


Survive

by CyborgCinderella



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Age Difference, Blood, Drama & Romance, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, F/M, Gore, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lovers To Enemies, Prostitution, Slow Build, Strangers to Lovers, romanic/sexual tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyborgCinderella/pseuds/CyborgCinderella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost a year after the opera, and Shiloh's adapted to life in the city. She's trying to survive,trying to get through it all while looking for someone. Someone who deals in the glow, and who you can never find unless he wants you to. But, once she's found him, will he be all that she expected?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. City life

Shiloh kept her head down and walked quickly, the sound of her boots slapping on the slimy concrete echoing off the alley walls. Her hair fell into her eyes and she tossed it away impatiently. It had grown surprisingly fast and was now becoming a hindrance, long enough to fall into her eyes, but too short to tie back without looking ridiculous. Thankfully, despite it being bothersome, her new, raggedy hairstyle had an advantage; the appearance of maturity. In her old wig and smock she could've been mistaken for twelve. Now pushing eighteen, she felt she finally looked her age. Trying to fit in helped too. Adapting to the city, she'd traded in her smocks for skirts, wore more leather and less lace. If you wanted to remain unseen, it was best to dress like those around you, even if it isn't quite your style.

Shiloh turned a corner and almost collided with a couple, a tangle of limbs and breathy moans in the dark. She averted her eyes and carried on, trying not to blush. However ignorant Shiloh had been to the "love market" when she first moved, she had gotten an unwanted education every time she stepped outside her door. Hardly anything surprised her anymore. But it didn't mean she wanted to see.  
Shuddering, she kept her eyes trained on the ground, avoiding looking at the entwined bodies in doorways and niches. Occasionally, she had to stepped over a drugged up junkie, almost blue with cold and barley breathing. She used to try helping them, but it was no use. Sometimes they lay there for days. Sometimes they never got up. The cold would get to them, and body snatchers would carry them off before they stopped breathing.  
Body snatchers were becoming a growing problem in the city, along with several new markets that had bloomed on Rotti's death. Body snatchers would take the freshly dead, or even the drugged living, and use their organs in backstreet surgery. And since one hand washes the other, they worked in conjunction with the graverobbers, who supplied them with zydrate. They pumped their patients so full of the glow that they usually became addicts within week of the surgery. If they lived, that is.

Shiloh had just reached the graffitied doorway of her building when her bracelet signalled an incoming message. The bloated face of her landlord hovered above her wrist, and she felt a cold jolt of panic run down her spine. Sure enough, when he spoke, he did not bear good news.

"Ms. Wallace, you are over two weeks late with your rent. If you do not deliver the required payment within two days, I will be forced to send you a notice of eviction," here his nasally voice changed from the official recorded message, "There are plenty of people out there who would do anything to have that apartment. And I mean anything." His voice made her shiver, "so find so way to pay up, or pack up!" The transmission cut. Shiloh stepped into the lobby and leaned against the door, sighing heavily. She couldn't pay. She knew what he intended by his last sentence and the thought made her sick. She glanced back in the direction of the street and shuddered. No, she didn't have the strength to live that life.  
She took a deep breath; the air smelled like urine and mold. She told herself the concentrate on the simple things, until she could think clearly. Simple things, like choosing between the filthy stairs to get to her flat, or the rank elevator.The former was more attractive. Yes it involved several flights of stairs that creaked and felt like they were going to collapse at any time, but the elevator was generally used as a public toilet, and occasionally as a "working area" for some of the less picky hookers. It also had a tendency to shut down erratically and Shiloh detested small, confined spaces. With those options unnecessarily weighed up, she headed towards the stairs, but hadn't even made the first step when the doors of the lift grated open. She wouldn't have given it a second glance but for the smell.  
Sickly and sweet, bringing with it memories of the opera and a feeling of guilt and shame she had tried to forget. Her eyes were dragged towards the lift and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream.  
A Repo man was standing before her, black leather gloves dripping blood, eyes unreadable behind mirrored goggles, shaded beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Shocked, she stepped back and met the stairs, falling painfully as she scrambled to get away. This man wasn't her father. If he wanted he could kill her and no one would even know or care. A small, sarcastic voice in Shiloh's head thought at least that way she wouldn't have to pay the rent. However, the majority of her mind was a roaring void of fear. She was unable to move, or think or scream, she could only stare at the mirrored goggles, and listen to the blood rush in her ears. He regarded her blankly, and then walked past her, opening the door to the back alley and out into the night.  
Shiloh exhaled and slumped against the dirty, rotten stairs, her relief as palpable as a wave of ice water. Adrenaline pounded through her body as she forced herself up, winching at her new bruises. she crouched on the bottom step, pressing her shaking hands over her eyes. She forced herself to breath slowly, deeply, despite the smell. It was in this darkness behind her eyelids that she realized that the scent of blood was still strong in the air. Slowly, fingers forming a lattice of windows, as if it would cushion the blow, she turned towards the still-open elevator. Lying in a pool of her own, still-warm blood was a young woman. For the second time that night fear spiked violently through Shiloh's body, this time laced with revulsion. She struggled to fight the bile viciously climbing her throat, clapping a hand over her mouth. The girl in front of her was still oozing blood, her throat coated in viscous red, her head almost severed from her body. But that was just a sign of the repo man's mercy; her belly was sliced open, entrails torn out and scattered across the floor in his serh for her overdue organ, there was no surviving after that. Finally bringing herself to look the dead girl in the face, Shiloh felt her heart twist in an emotion she couldnt quite describe. Despite the twisted death mask of the corpse, beneath all the blood, she recognised her. She was one of the nicer escorts that frequented the area; at least, nice as in she had never spat in Shiloh's direction as she passed, and had nodded in greeting at least once before.  
Her name was Li, and she had been hooked on zydrate for three years. Her skin, deathly white beneath the red coating it almost darkened to purple along her arms and neck, pitted with needle marks. It was the least Shiloh could do, but hope she was high when she died, so she didn't feel anything. But by the look on her face, she doubted it. A purse lay next to her, its contents strewn across the now sticky, blood-stained floor. A scattering of condoms, a tube of lipstick...and a little glass vial.

"Zydrate comes in a little glass vial." His voice, low and deep, spoke from a memory. Zydrate. The little container glowed an eerie blue, reflecting oddly off the dark substance that coated the lift floor. Shiloh had to make a choice. Soon the body truck would be round, or possibly, the body snatchers. Money was needed. Zydrate was expensive. And people needed zydrate.  
Shiloh glanced one last time and the dead girl, crouched down and gently closed her eyes for her, forcing back a shudder. Then her fingers closed around the cold cylinder and she ran from the lift and up the stairs, trying not to think about the noise she was making or the girl left behind her, all her thoughts were on the little bottle of liquid and how she would go about selling it.  
"Zydrate comes in a little glass vial."  
"A little glass vial?"  
"A little glass vial."


	2. Things you hear in a diner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the ones i've written every weekend, so it'll take a few weeks before it's properly up to date.

Gray-blue light filtered through the grubby window. It was morning, but Shilo hadn't slept a wink.

The bouts of insomnia had begun shortly after her father's death. At night she was plagued with memories of screaming, and the smell of blood on her skin. Her father's face would swim before her eyes, distorting, becoming the mask of the repo man, a monster. The screams ringing in her ears would change to Blind Mag's final note, before she sacrificed herself. Most nights Shilo would stare at the ceiling and count the cracks, waiting for the images to fade and the new day to begin. There were ninety-seven cracks on the ceiling of her room.  
Tonight, sleep hadn't been an option. Every time she closed her eyes, Li's ravaged body flashed before her. Her blood still stained Shilo's hands, and the drug she had stolen from a dead woman glowed in the dark. It drew Shilo's eyes to it, like a moth to a flame. Guilt lingered with her like it's negative after image.

So, half-asleep and nervous, Shilo walked briskly through the gloomy, daylight streets. People loitered in doorways, bodies lay in gutters. In the distance, there was an occasional scream or police siren. It was a beautiful day.

Shiloh held her bag close, aware of the vial nestled in the lining of her purse. It was hard to believe the small bottle, no bigger than her thumb, was worth more than two weeks pay. The thought made her heart race.

Finally she reached the cheap diner where she worked. A large flickering sign boasted: "GENCOOK". It was a novelty idea, launched years ago by GENECO, in order to gain extra publicity. It was a flop, only a few branches remained open, places where people didn't care what was in the food, as long as it was hot. Shilo entered the greasy kitchen, and was immediately assaulted with the smell of food. Her stomach growled and she was hit by a wave of dizziness, and leaned heavily against the wall. She desperately needed to eat, it had been two days since her last meal. As she walked in, she spotted the familiar empty bottle of vokda standing on the countertop. Shiloh sighed, it wasn't even gone eleven. And if he was drunk she might get away with stealing food, but definitely not going without wearing the uniform.

The theme of the diner was, of course, GENECO. The faces of the Largo kids were plastered on the wall, extra features added by the neighbourhood vandalizers. Not much, a moustache on Luigi, blacked out eyes on Pavi, and so many obscenities scribbled over Amber that Shiloh had to be told it was her when she first started. Worst of all were the uniforms. GENECO were famous for their scantily clad GENterns, and a take on their uniforms had been applied to here.  
Shiloh hated the disgustingly short, white dress, complete with plastic apron and mask. In fact, it wasn't even the outfit that annoyed her, it was the way she was expected to act in it. Like a surgery-addicted, bimbo slut. Shiloh blushed easily, and got flustered when men leered at her. There was no point being flattered, because it was only the outfit and it's reputation they saw. She knew that months of not eating properly had made her alarmingly skinny. She was all angles, and even more awkward looking than she had been as an invalid. It was amazing, the power of a uniform. It could somehow make men see a curvy GENtern, instead of a scarecrow in a sheet.

Body snatchers and graverobbers of the city found it something of a novelty to march into the diner and proclaim loudly that they wanted a "zydrate juice" smoothie. It was also one of the cheapest places that served food that didn't have rat as meat, or other people. They were something like regulars, so comfortable in the filthy environment that they spoke freely, allowing Shiloh to pick up on back-street gossip, if she listened carefully. It wasn't anything she really needed to hear, but it was always handy to know which gangs were feuding and what dealer was mixing glow sticks with zydrate.

However, the day was slow, and Shiloh was finding it difficult to stay awake. She was half scrubbing, half falling asleep on a table, when three men entered. She hadn't seen them before. They were graverobbers, judging from the state of their clothes. Unusually, there was no wolf whistle on her approach and only one, a broad shouldered black man, acknowledged her. He had a tattoo along the side of his face, and he grinned good-naturedly at her. Shiloh silently took their orders, taking in the men as she looked around the table.

There was an older man next to the tattooed one, with a scraggly goatee and a crooked nose, who called her "sweetheart" as he ordered. He was focused on the youngest of the three, sitting across from them. They spoke in low voices, ignoring Shiloh, because everyone knows GENterns don't listen, don't remember. Shiloh found that idea useful, from time to time.  
It wasn't as though she deliberately listened; she just quietly went about her business and occasionally heard something interesting while working next to the table. She was mopping the aisle beside the table when she heard it.

"... I don't see why he's 'The Graverobber' anyway," huffed the younger one, his face seemed to be pulled taut from the long plait down his back. There was a sigh from the bearded man, like this was a complaint often heard.

"Because he is, Rat. He's the best, never been caught."

Rat grinned smugly. "Not for much longer, if he doesn't give Amber what she wants."

"What are you talking about, boy?" snapped the other, leaning forward. Rat glanced at Shiloh, who had frozen to the spot. After almost a year, she had heard some kind of mention of him! And she was about to blow all chances of hearing more if she didn't act now. Thankfully, the bell rang for their order, and Shiloh dashed away, trying not to glance back. She felt Rat watching her leave.

Two minutes later she was back, carrying a tray laden with food, just in time to catch the end of their conversation.  
"Into hiding? Him? What about his customers? Especially...y'know." The tattooed man jerked a thumb at the graffitied wall hiding Amber. The goatee man scoffed.

"You can't be serious, Rat, she'd find him." Rat shook his head, smirking.

"Nah, she's been lookin' for him. Too high an' mighty for a dumpster now, so he is. She's just waitin' on Masque Street , for him to send a runner or somethin', I bet."  
The older man sighed, taking a plate from Shiloh. "I'd be there in a shot if she'd buy from anyone else."

"She will," said Rat determinedly, "It's been weeks now, they're all desperate. Who cares if its mixed with glow sticks, it still works, right?"  
Shiloh's hand shook as she set down the plates, and Rat glared at her, then surprisingly, grinned. His teeth were pointed and sharp, a a shiver ran down her spine. she could feel him watching her for the rest of the time he was there, but did her best to ignore him, her mind already busy forming a plan.


	3. The Masquerade

Rain misted down on the city, slowly soaking into the thin coat Shiloh was wearing. It formed a dewy cover on her hair that sparkled under the orange streetlamps. She stared up at the sign built into the wall. Some of the letters had been scratched off, but some were visible "Ma_que Stre_t", it read. She peered down the alley and felt a vague familiarity, but all the streets around here looked the same anyway. Flickering lights illuminated the alley, casting irregular shadows over everything; causing confusion to whether what you were looking at was a pile of rubbish, or a sleeping junkie. Steam rose from vents, and shadowy figures faded in and out of sight. The whole place stank of garbage, and Shiloh wondered if she had found the right place.

Looking down the street, Shiloh's heart sank. How was she supposed to find Amber in all this? She cursed, annoyed that she hadn't stopped at any newsstands along the way, to check for Amber's weekly look. The hovering billboards only came around this side of the city once a day and she had missed them too. Amber could be any one of these shivering, ragged people. Shiloh could see figures in doorways looking her way and tried to avoid catching anyones eye. As casually as possible, made her way to a stairwell, sheltering under the niche. She sat gingerly on the damp steps and wondered if Amber would show before she got mugged, if she did at all. Movements in the shadows made her clutch her purse tightly, and set her heart racing. There was a movement on the staircase behind her, but Shiloh didn't move, telling herself she couldn't be seen jumping at any little thing, that it would draw attention.

"Hello there," a voice whispered in her ear. Shiloh yelped, tripping off the steps and into the arms of someone waiting on the street.

"Aw, don't run from us, baby," chuckled the one now twisting her arms behind her back. She could feel the calluses on his hands, and he pulled her so close that his breath was on her neck.

"I-I don't have anything you want!" cried Shiloh, trying to break free and wincing when her captor redoubled his grip. There was a snigger from the stairwell, and someone leisurely walked down the steps and into the light.

"Oh, I can't say I agree," he grinned, showing sharp, pointed teeth. It was Rat, his hair loose and plastered to his scalp with rain, but it was him all the same. Shilo's heart skipped a beat; for a moment, she thought she had missed her medicine, but it was only terror coursing through her veins. Rat stepped towards her, looking her up and down.

"What's a waitress like you, doing in a place like Masque Street?" he asked nastily, leaning into her face. His breath reeked.

"'Reckon you could ge' a bit bashed up down 'ere, if you're no' careful," said the man behind her, she could hear the grin in his voice. He had a British accent, cockney, maybe. shilohs mind spun, picking up every bit of useless information. "Wouldn't want to 'urt that pretty li'l face." the man growled threateningly.  
Rat was now caressing Shilo's cheek, his fingers cold and clammy. He laughed when she tried to bite them, flicking her nose.

"Hey now, we don't wanna hurt you." he laughed as he traced Shiloh's jaw line, "Surgeons don't pay for a damaged face..."  
Shiloh's blood ran cold as his words sunk in. She looked around the alley wildly, but the people milling in the shadows pointedly avoided looking at them. She realised calling for help would be useless, and began to shake. Shiloh didn't often cry, but this was too much. Tears blurred her vision and streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the cold rainwater. Rat rolled his eyes.

"Oh for Christ's sake! Just tell me where Graverobber is, and I won't do anything to you, alright?" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. Shiloh looked at him, confused. "Wh-what are you talking about?" she croaked. Rat looked at her for a moment before lashing out, catching her at the corner of her eye. Sparks exploded across her vision, blinding her for a moment. it seemed Rat didn't mind too much about damaging her face after all.

Before she had blinked the stars away, Rat had lunged and torn her purse from her shoulder. The strap broke easily, and by the time Shiloh's vision had cleared, Rat was rooting through her bag. His features broke into a grin and he held the zydrate vial aloft, tossing the bag to the floor. Immediately the atmosphere in the alley changed. Every pair of eyes was focused on the bright blue vial. All conversation hushed, so when Rat spoke, his voice seemed louder than ever.

"Now, now, waitress, what do we have here? And don't tell me it's yours, 'cause we both know you're not on the glow." Around them, a crowd was forming, the blue light softening the look of thin faces, but not hiding the desperation in their eyes. Rat turned to them now, annoyance clear on his face.

"Back off, scum! Once I get what I want, you'll get your fix!" he snarled, brandishing the vial. Reluctantly, the crowd thinned, though Shiloh could still feel every pair of eyes watching them. Rat grinned at her, and glanced at the shadows. She thought she saw a flicker of nervousness cross his face, but then it was gone, and suddenly, he tossed the vial in the air. As one, the alley held their breath. Shiloh cried out as she watched the little bottle soar into the air, seeming to hang for a moment as it reached it's peak, before plummeting back to earth. Rat caught it without looking.

Shiloh would've collapsed from relief, but the goon behind her still held her. Rat tossed the vial in the air again, not as high this time.

"So, you wanna tell me where he is now?" Rat offered, plucking the vial out of the air like a feather. Shiloh could barely answer.

"I don't know, I-I really don-"she was cut off as Rat slammed a fist across her jaw. Pain shot through her and she heard a crack, tasting metal. Rat stepped closer to her, so they were almost nose to nose.

"Don't fuck with me, bitch!" he growled. "I saw you get all squirrely at the diner. And don't even pretend you're a dealer, 'cause I know every one of 'em."

Shiloh looked at her feet, feeling the blood in her mouth well up and ooze through her lips, trickling down her chin. It dripped to the floor, causing dark drops that disappeared within moments of hitting the cement, washed away by the rain. Rat ran his fingers through Shiloh's hair, yanking it painfully so she was looking him in the eye.

"I can do this all night," he whispered. He wrapped a cold hand around her neck, digging his thumb against her windpipe. shiloh whimpered as he smiled nastily and gently began to apply pressure.

"You know what I think?" he asked rhetorically, keeping a tight grip on Shiloh's neck as she struggled. Already she was gasping for air, the pain of the pressure consuming her mind.

"I think you ran straight to your precious 'Robbie' right after we left. I think you told him I was gonna take his customers'...and he wasn't gonna let that happen, was he?" He pushed Shiloh's head back forcefully and stepped away. Throwing his hands in the air he looked expectantly around the alley. He was excited now, his voice echoing around the alley as he spoke.

"So he decided to come down here, like a man, to face me!" he cried, his voice booming off the walls. Then he grinned, and chuckled, bowing in Shiloh's direction, as if she could clap at his little performance. He held the vial in the palm of his hand and gazed down at it, then smirked at Shiloh, who was gasping for air.

"Oh, wait... he sent you," Rat chuckled again, and tossed the bottle in the air once more. There was a moment of silence as everyone followed it. Then a shot rang through the alley, and Rat was promptly shot in the head.

There was a moment of silence as the echoes of the bang faded, and then several things happened at once.

The man holding Shiloh saw his employer collapse, and waited approximately three seconds before throwing the girl to the ground and disappearing into the night. She could hear his heavy footsteps as he ran away. Everybody panicked, and evacuated the street in a flurry. Shiloh was unable to get up, so she curled in a ball and protected herself as best she could from the hobnail boots and stilettos that trampled her limbs and sank into her skin. The stampede was over in a matter of seconds, but to Shiloh it felt like eternity.

Once she realised that the street was empty, she uncurled painfully and sat up on the filthy pavement. The street was deserted. Wincing in pain, she raised herself into a crouch. Glancing around, she spotted something that, at first, she thought was a misshapen pile of trash. With a sudden lurch of her stomach, she realised who it was.

Shiloh almost retched when she recognised the late dealer, and then only by the bullet hole in his head. Without any protection from the oncoming stampede, Rat had been vulnerable to the assorted collection of footwear that Masque Street had to offer. Part of his face had been ripped away, and Shiloh could see a hint of white in the glistening red flesh. An eye socket looked hollow, something slimy leaking from beneath the lid. Blood pooled around his head like a gruesome halo, clotting in his hair, leaking from the small bullet hole in his head. Rat had met his end, butchered in the gutter like so many of his namesake.

Once the initial wave of nausea had passed, Shilo remembered why she was there and scrambled forward. Rat was even more grotesque up close, and Shiloh shuddered at what she was about to do. But she was too far gone to turn back now. Taking a deep breath, she began to pat down Rats clothes, dry heaving whenever her fingers slipped through the rips in his clothes and touched the slimy, blood-coated skin beneath. She pulled out a battered wallet, which held nothing but a few ten-dollar bills and a picture of Rat and a girl, a few years older than Shiloh, snuggled under Rats protective arm. She smiled up at him in the picture, and Shiloh's heart clenched.

She left the photo with him, and regretfully pocketed the bills. Stealing from the dead was fast becoming a habit that she didn't want. She prised open his stiffening fingers, but to no avail. The zydrate was nowhere to be found. Sighing, she stood up, wiping bloody hands on her filthy jacket. Rat had thrown the vial in the air moments before his death, and although Shiloh had hoped it was some kind of trick, it obviously wasn't.

There was something else Shiloh had found strange in her search of Rat's cooling body. There was no zydrate to be found. Not even an empty vial to show the mark of his trade. A dealer with nothing to deal... Shiloh couldn't muse on it at that moment. What goes up must come down, and she would search for that little vial, even if just to find it's shattered pieces. To know all hope was lost before returning to reality.

She turned towards the piles of rubbish, bracing herself for a night of digging through filth. However, before she could reach it, she was grabbed from behind and thrown, landing softly on the overstuffed bags, which burst, spilling garbage onto her.

She turned to face her attacker, but was met with a wall of bare chest and leather. Bewildered, Shilo shifted amongst the muck and tried to look up. As she stared up at the blank, visored faces of the bodyguards everyone in the city would recognise, she heard something tinkle across the pavement and hit against her foot. Her heart leapt, and slowly she reached down, not taking her gaze away from the emotionless face. Her fingers searched the damp pavement, and as she touched the cool glass the men parted, showing Amber Sweet in all her glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this here is actually a great excuse to go over the older chapters and fix them up a little.  
> I hope you are enjoying it so far, please tell me what you think, thanks!  
> ~CC


	4. Fallen Angel

Shiloh hadn't seen Amber since the opera, at least not in person.

She was CEO of GENECO and ruled them all with an iron fist. She let Pavi play with the GENterns, and Luigi terrorise the surgeons, but they all knew who the boss really was.  
Amber had turned out to be just as good as her father at running the family business. It was already so corrupt, there was little she could do to change it, apart from spend more money than her father would have ever dreamt of.  
And she was just as infamous, changing her look every week, having a string of lovers, almost overdosing on zydrate in the backstreets of the city. Every move she made was caught on camera, and Shiloh had often wondered how the media still didn't know where she got her stash. Glancing at the body that was once Rat, she didn't have any doubts that some paparazzi never got to publish their pictures.

Stumbling, Shiloh clumsily knelt before her. She realised how scruffy she must look, since Amber almost shone in comparison to her filthy surroundings, like a diamond in the dirt. Her hair was in a short, blonde bob that framed her face and highlighted new, heightened cheekbones. She wore a white, feather coat that hung from her shoulders, showing creamy skin and the clingy, shimmering, gold sequinned dress beneath.  
With the white feathers and the golden hair, and a face that looked unearthly perfect, Amber could've been an angel, come to deliver Shiloh from evil. And in some ways she was.  
She looked down her nose at Shiloh, drawing her coat around herself.

"Don't I know you?" she asked, her voice snide and commanding. Shiloh scrambled to her feet, sneaking a look at the vial in her hand. It wasn't cracked, at least. She looked at Amber, thinking quickly. Amber couldn't remember her, could she? Her own father probably wouldn't at this stage. Shiloh didn't know what she looked like, but she knew it couldn't be good. Her hair felt ragged and matted with grime, her clothes were ripped, showing the oozing gashes beneath the cloth. Her face felt swollen, and the cut beneath her eye stung like a burn.  
But it seemed Amber had an eye for bone structure, and she stepped closer to Shiloh, her goons moving with her.

"I've seen you before, haven't I?"Shiloh shook her head desperately, not knowing how Amber would react if she really did remember.

"M-maybe...?"

"You were with the Graverobber!" Amber's voice, sharp and accusing, filled the alley. Shiloh threw her hand in front of her face, bracing herself for the attack to come. But there was no order from Amber. The rough hands Shiloh had expected didn't grab her, and the dreaded noise of a gunshot did not sound. The silence that filled the street was sudden and eerie.

Opening an eye, Shiloh chanced a glance at Amber. The blonde was staring at Shiloh, transfixed. More specifically, she was staring at her hand. Faint blue light was escaping between her fingers and Amber was trained on it like a sniffer dog. Lowering her arms, Shiloh loosened her grip on the vial, cradling it in her palm. She looked down at the bottle, and then at Amber. Amber was looking at her with eyes a perfect shade of sapphire blue, that were filled with a hunger, a longing so intense that Shiloh almost winced in pain herself.

"W-where did you get that?" for the first time, a quaver entered Amber's voice. Shiloh thought fast. Could she tell the truth? Would Amber buy if she knew it wasn't from the Graverobber? From what she knew, the Graverobber was in hiding because of her. But maybe, with that much longing in her eyes, Amber wouldn't care.

"It's mine," Shilo stated, sounding amazingly more confident than she felt, "I'm here to sell it..." she trailed off.Amber stared her down.

"You? A dealer? Don't make me laugh." But she didn't turn, didn't walk away. Shiloh's hopes rose as she realised Amber was seriously considering her offer.

"Where did you get it?" Shiloh's heart beat faster, and she knew the way she answered this question would seal the deal, literally. She thought carefully, aware she couldn't be too long in answering.

"From a- from a body," she answered, barely stammering. It wasn't a lie after all, just not a whole truth. But it had the desired effect on Amber.

"Pure..." the blond muttered under her breath. Seeming to make up her mind, she reached for the vial, and seemed surprised when Shiloh pulled away.

"I need to be paid, up front!" snapped Shiloh, tightening her grip on the vial. She tried to look seem like she knew what she was doing, although there was barely any point pretending now. "You know how much." She tried not to turn it into a question.

Amber looked at her, and a panicky thought struck Shiloh. Maybe there wasn't a set amount for her. Maybe she paid for her zydrate in...other ways. They stared at each other for a moment more before Amber rolled her eyes.

"Right." She tapped one of her men on the shoulder and clicked once. Stepping aside, he revealed another man holding a leather briefcase. Snapping it open, rows of crisp bills could be seen. Shiloh's mouth nearly dropped open at the sight of so much money. Amber remained insouciant, her eyes still locked on Shiloh.

Tearing her gaze away, she carelessly pulled a few wads of cash from the case and tossed them at Shiloh, who grabbed at them childishly. Once she had checked the bills, she offered the vial to Amber, who snatched it out of her palm without a word of thanks.

Then, without a second glance at the girl who stood, battered and bruised in the accumulated filth of Masque Street, Amber turned and stalked down the street, to a previously unnoticed black limousine. She stopped to whisper something to one of the men who were helping her in, tracing along his jaw, turning his face towards hers. It was over in a moment, and once Amber was in the car he turned his masked stare turned towards Shilo, his expression unreadable.

Shiloh leaned against a wall, with the money clutched to her chest and watched as Amber disappeared into the smoky interior of the limo and cruised away into the night. The bodyguard who stared at her was the last to enter the car, and she shivered when he turned away. All at once she felt vulnerable, and recalled the earlier shooting and the corpse that lay not even two meters from her. Grabbing a nearby bag, she stuffed the money into it and ran, clutching it to her chest. She tried not to look at the dead body as she passed it, or think about the people still lurking in the alley. She swore she would never get involved with anything like it again, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't need to.

But the sub-market, the drug market, just has a way of drawing you in...


	5. Cold heart

The days that followed Masque Street didn't feel quite real for Shilo. She'd enjoyed the look on her landlord's face when she'd handed over the rent, and paid off another month, early. But she was haunted by the death of Rat. His face was another that had joined the ranks among the night-time terrors. He'd only wanted Graverobber's location after all, and he'd been shot because of it. That girl in the picture in his wallet, that smiling girl, had been left alone in the world. Shilo knew how that felt, to have someone suddenly ripped away from you. She shivered, snapping out of her daydream. It was Shilo's day off, the one day where she was free from the smell of grease and her constricting uniform. But Shilo couldn't enjoy it. Every time she stepped outside, she felt she was being followed.

She had spent her day so far cleaning her tiny flat and lying on her bed, listening to the crackly radio while zoning in and out of consciousness. Around the third time she had woken up, she realised she was wasting her day, all because she was afraid of a stupid feeling that was probably all in her head. Pulling on a net top and leather shorts, she grabbed her keys. Slinging her heavy black coat around her shoulders, she left, trying not to glance behind her at the dingy corridor. Nestled in the deep pockets of her coat, alongside her shiny, slim room keys, was an old brass one, heavy and spotted with rust. She held it in her palm, its weight reassuring her.She tried to convince herself that there was no reason to feel nervous. She was only going to visit her family, after all. 

Shilo stepped through the cemetery gates, feeling almost at home. Letting herself into the crypt, she laid a white rose on her mother's grave, and was reminded of all the times she had done this with her dad. She looked at the newer grave of the two, and her heart clenched.She sat by her father's final resting place, pressing his rose to her lips before placing it on the cool marble. Shiloh looked around the tomb, as familiar as any old room in her house. She couldn't remember the amount of times she'd been down here. Paying respect with her father, whose tomb she sat by now, or escaping from her room, going to the only place she could be closest to the outside world. She had been here so many times; she had almost forgotten that it was a burial ground. But now, sitting beside her father's grave, the marble of his tomb bright in contrast to the rest of the time-worn stone, Shilo could only feel death in this once comforting place.

She couldn't hold it in anymore. She had no-one to confide in. The events of the week were all too much, so now, leaning against her father's tombstone, Shiloh softly began to cry.

She just wanted someone to talk to.

* * *

- _ **Snap**_ -

A shutter closed softly, taking Shiloh's image as she entered the graveyard, catching her nervous glance over her shoulder. The digital image flickered onto the camera's screen, casting pale light on the photographer's face. There was a chuckle, as a cloud of smoke hit Shiloh's photo, obscuring her face.

In the centre of the city, in the top office of the imposing cement fortress that towered above the rest, that boasted the flashing sign of GENECO, sat Amber. The chair she sat in was expensive and comfortable, as was the rest of the decor in the room. The decor was no longer that of dull cement walls and tattered furniture that Rotti used to intimidate his visitors. The theme of the room changed nearly as often as Amber, and she liked it to match. Today it was white, a polar bear fur rug, and off-white patterned wallpaper. A white-and-gold velvet loveseat took up the centre of the room, next to a coffee table painted in gold leaf. Guilded-edged mirrors were everywhere, so everywhere she looked, Amber would see multiple reflections smiling back at her.

Amber lounged in the large plush armchair behind her desk, scanning through reports shown to her by a bodyguard, although really only interested in the tabloid magazine she held that showed scandalous pictures of her bender the week before. She smirked, turning a page. And they thought she'd cleaned up her act. She was just wondering if she should try a darker look, when the door of her private elevator slid open. A thin man in a trench coat entered the room, clutching his briefcase in both hands. He looked nervous, as he should when in the same room as the woman he had shamed again and again with backstreet pictures and stories.

He was a private detective. Well, more like "the word on the street" kinda guy. He was an informant, glorified paparazzi. But he was taking this job as a chance to redeem himself in Amber's eyes, and in the briefcase he held was all he could gather in the few days he had. He sat carefully on the unblemished couch in front of Amber's heavily carved mahogany desk. It was the one piece of furniture that never changed and she leaned on it now, staring him down. She gestured impatiently to one of her bodyguards, who silently retrieved the case from the man, emptying its contents onto the desk. Pictures of Shilo, newspaper clippings and notes were strewn across the desk.

Rifling through them, Amber found a newspaper cut-out from the year before. She read the headline, but was more focused on the picture beneath. The girl portrayed in it was a little younger, looked a lot more cared for, and the hair was all wrong, but if Amber concentrated on the eyes and nose, she could see the girl from the alley. She smiled grimly, before looking up at the "detective" with cold, violet eyes.

"Well? Mr...Grander?" she asked languidly.The man's tongue almost tripped over itself trying to answer as he forced himself to look her in the eye.

"It-It's Gardener, Jacob Gardener, ma'am. All the information is there, you'd probably want to get st-" he stopped at Amber's stony glare. She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Everything about her expression said that she had no intention of reading anything, except perhaps the glossy magazine that lay on her lap.

Gardener took a deep, nervous breath. Feeling like a scolded schoolboy, he began to recite his findings, keeping short and to the point.

"Ah, ahem, her name is Shilo Wallace. Eighteen, lives in flat 19 of the "Pleasant Place" lodgings, 52 Dawn Street. Works in a diner... erm... stays in at night, so far." He faltered at the sight of Amber rapping her nails on the polished surface of the desk, looking bored.

"Doesn't seem to have any friends. Went to a graveyard today, but I didn't-"

"She went into a graveyard? In broad daylight? Did she have needles? A bag, anything?" amber sat forward, eyes suddenly alert.

Gardener shifted nervously in his seat. It was common knowledge that you weren't supposed to talk about this. GENECO still arrested anyone they could accuse of using street zydrate, yet here was the CEO, the boss, foaming at the mouth for a new dealer. He'd better be getting paid well for this.

"Couldn't see, ma'am. She was wearing a coat that would've covered three of her. Er...She could have? " he ended unhelpfully, growing more and more nervous.

Amber stared broodingly at his last picture, the one of Shilo entering the graveyard. The girl looked suspicious enough. And she was definitely ratty enough to be mistaken as one.  _'I mean, look at that coat,_ ' thought Amber disdainfully. To the terrified detective, it seemed Amber was reaching a decision. She chuckled to herself, tracing Shilo's printed face with an ivory finger.

"Who would've thought," she murmured, "The daughter of a repo man, reduced to a dealer of the glow."

She appeared to have forgotten that the detective was there, and he wondered if he should leave. He had an appointment with the reporter of FACE magazine, and he was being paid twice the amount as his job for the latest scoop on Amber. And he had a lot to tell them. He began to stand up, but Amber raised a hand and he froze, awkwardly half-standing. She smiled at him, transparent honesty the only emotion on her perfect face.

"Detective? You've forgotten your payment," she said innocently. Gardener almost collapsed back to the couch in relief.

"Ah, yes ma'm, about that...I-I'd just like to thank you-" he stopped, once again because one of Ambers bodyguards had whispered something in her ear. She listened, glancing at the detective, then her smile widened, and she assumed a businesslike position behind her desk. As the detectives confidence disappeared, so did Ambers smile. Her face was a mask of cold fury. Behind her, two of her men pulled guns from their holsters. Gardeners heart began to race and he backed away, forced to stop when he hit the loveseat.

"Bu-but..." he stuttered, as the men trained their guns on him. Amber inspected her nails, as if bored.

"You really didn't know, detective?" she asked loftily, holding her hand up to the light "I know who you are, what you're going to do," she looked at him and smiled "and I cant let it happen."

The bodyguards loaded their guns in synch. Gardener ran the length of the office, to the elevator, desperately pressing the open button, but to no avail. Pressing himself against the doors he stared, in wide-eyed terror, at the beauty sitting serenely behind the desk.

"Have you no heart?" he cried. The silenced guns made an anticlimax - _ **fwip**_ \- as they were fired, but nevertheless tore through the man's skull just as well. Amber gazed coldly at the corpse the was now leaking blood onto her once-white floor.

"No," she said, "I've had many."

 


	6. The chase

Shiloh woke suddenly, slumped over the cold tomb, her face pressed against the engraved stone. Stretching, she brought her hands to her face, feeling the imprints the stone had left against her cheek. She winced as she touched the bruise beside her eye, a fading reminder of the week before. Getting stiffly to her feet, she looked once more at her parents' graves, before lugging open the heavy door and stepping out. To her surprise, it was night. Not that it made much of a difference; the days were a permanent twilight anyway. Pulling her coat collar up around her face, she walked quietly from the cemetery, dodging behind headstones whenever she saw a guard approaching. It didn't matter if she was here legally or not, after dark they were allowed to shoot on sight. There had been some close calls.  
She jogged through the darkening streets and arrived, hot and out of breath at her address. The usual gaggle of scalpel sluts were gathered around her building's door, hiding from the cold and the cops. They were there so often Shiloh had come to know them; well, in a way. Li used to be part of the crowd, the rest weren't half as nice. They catcalled as she approached.

"Look out girl, the boogieman's chasin' y'all!" Jordan, a tall, ebony girl in white fishnet called out to her.

"It's a little after your bedtime, don't'cha think?" sniggered Camille, a girl who couldn't have been more than a year older than Shiloh herself. They sneered as she approached, but Shiloh ignored them, pushing through their scantily-clad body blockade, to get to the door. But Harley leaned against it, preventing her from getting to the lock. She looked Shiloh up and down, pushing back a strand of her bright-red hair as she did so. Shiloh felt nervous under her gaze. It was well known that Harley ruled the roost around here, with a temper as fiery as her hair. Dressed in chain-draped leather, she was not a force to be reckoned with. She smiled a mockingly at Shiloh.

"So, uh, Shiloh...when did you join the ranks of our noble vocation?" she asked slyly, drawing titters from the rest of the crowd. She spoke well, the lilt in her voice reminded Shiloh of Amber, and she often wondered about her upbringing. But her statement had Shiloh was completely lost. They had never accused her of being a hooker before. She supposed, once you are one, its use as an insult became slightly hypocritical.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, trying not to snap. Harley had a couple of spiked rings on that looked like they would hurt. Camille joined in, rolling her electric blue, kohl edged eyes at her.

"Look, don't play around, you're just trying to hide it," She nudged Harley, who smirked, " making the John's come to you, that one we haven't heard before, huh, Harls?" Shiloh looked between then, bewildered, and shook your head.

"I don't know what you're talking about, i-it must be someone else," she said, cursing inwardly at her stutter. But the girls ignored her, and carried on regardless.

"I don't know how you managed to build up such clientele, I would've heard if there was someone new on the block, " Harley was musing," but you must've been working hard, 'cause if I had two men who looked like that hanging around my front door, I'd dump all my regular Joes in a snap."

"Looked like they tipped well, too," added Camille, grinning. Shiloh was still completely thrown, but a line in Harley's ramble had stood out for her.

"O-outside my door? How do you know where my room is?" her voice was slightly higher than usual, her stutter becoming prominent as she grew more and more nervous. The two looked at her as though it was obvious, and for the first time, Jordan spoke up, laying a hand on the shoulder of a younger, petite girl next to her.

"Our Angel here has that nasty landlord as a manager," her lip curled in disgust and she added, "He likes the 'younger' type." Angel drew her feather boa tighter around herself and sighed.

"He sent your eviction notice one day, y'know, after... he had to say your room number and all... " she mumbled, trailing off. She was the quietest so far out of all of them, and even younger than Shiloh. She had long blonde hair, and would've been pretty, if not for the needle marks and scabs along her arms and legs. Shiloh wanted to ask how they knew the men were there, but didn't want to seem so stupid, falling for this trick anymore. Harley had finally moved away from the door, and Shiloh jumped at the chance, turning the key and slipping in the door before anyone else could try to talk to her.  
It was a sick joke they were pulling, she was sure. They were just trying to freak out the goody-two-shoes who thought she was so much better than them. Right? Well, there was only one way to find out, she supposed. She pressed her ear to the thin door, waiting to hear the laughter, but it never came. They were talking, using the most common subject in the city, rich and poor, old and young alike. Surgery payments and repo men.  
Harley and Camille must've been leaning against the door, for Shiloh could hear them loud and clear. Harley sounded concerned, something Shiloh was slightly surprised about.

"Look, Cam, you can't keep ignoring it; it's been over sixty days now." There was a snort of laughter from Camille.

"Harley, I'm fine, just because I'm not miss-pay-within-the-ninety-day-limit, doesn't mean I won't get it done. I've done it before, once I pay, they forget about it, they never find me. It's just a matter of staying away from 'til I do. "

"It's not that easy, Sharpshooter's getting better. I mean, look at poor Li, and..." she lowered her voice to a whisper, and Shiloh had to stain to hear, "They're saying the surgeon is back!" A silence followed these words, and went on for so long that Shiloh couldn't tell if they had moved away or not. Just as a cramp was building in her neck, there was a sigh. The news had shaken Camille; her voice was quieter, faltering.

"No... th-that's impossible," she gave a nervous giggle."No, no, I'll be fine... I'll be...fine." Harley started to say something, but Shiloh pulled away, head spinning. Rubbing the crick in her neck, Shiloh pondered on Camille's reaction. The surgeon... the name sounded familiar.

The repo men had names didn't they? There was the Butcher, she was sure that was his name. He was very messy and most noticeable of them all, with a blood-spattered, once white apron worn with his uniform. And Wolf, who used dogs that sometimes that got to the victim first. She couldn't remember any others apart from Sharpshooter, the top dog since Surgeon had...  
Shiloh stalled climbing the stairs, clutching the banister. The Surgeon, her father's repo man alter-ego, that's who they'd said was back? She leaned against the wall, ignoring the ominous creaking of the stairs, and took a deep breath. No, that couldn't be it...

Her father was dead, she had been at his grave today for Christ's sake! No, it had to be some scam cooked up by GENECO, to scare people into paying up. She shook her head, continuing on her journey; soon enough, his image would be used as the boogie-man if they could get away with it. Wrapped in her thoughts, Shiloh walked on auto-pilot down her dark, musty hallway. Not looking where she was going, she tripped over something in the gloom, almost falling full-length on the stained carpet. Cursing, she felt around in the dark until her fingers closed around the item she tripped on. Holding it close to her face, she saw it was a jagged piece of wood, thin, but made heavy by the brass number fifteen nailed to it. Number fifteen was her apartment number. Clambering to her feet, Shiloh trotted down the hall, and was met with a horrible sight.

Her door was smashed in, bits of wood littering the corridor. The mess inside was visible to the world, and Shiloh stepped over the threshold in a daze, taking it in. Broken glass and pottery lay strewn across the floor, and her wardrobe had been pulled apart, clothes thrown carelessly on the ground. Her mattress was pulled off its boxspring, the stuffing protruding from the slashes ripped along it. Even the bare, overheard light bulb had been smashed. Stepping through the rubble, Shiloh stood in the centre of the room, at a loss of where to start and what to do. Picking up her one good dress that lay, crumpled on the floor, she shook the glass from it, and sighed.

As she was contemplating the ruins of her dress, there was a movement behind her. The only other door in the flat, the one that led to the bathroom, was beginning to open. She reacted through terror, scrambling to the window and heaving at the latch. The frame was stiff, painted shut, and the door was almost fully open by the time she had opened it enough to squeeze through. Adeline was pumping through her veins as she collapsed onto the fire exit just below the sill and lay there, panting.

Two men were standing in the centre of her room, one holding a drawer that she recognised from her bathroom dresser. Shiloh knew who they were instantly. Tall, muscular, with identical shades, military-style haircuts, and leather jackets. instantly recognisable by almost everyone in the city, Amber's bodyguards.

The one who was holding the drawer examined the contents, then dismissively emptied it and dropped it on the floor. Shiloh watched, listening to blood pound in her ears, trying not to make a sound. They were now tapping the walls and looking behind the few pictures that were hanging lopsidedly on the walls. Sooner or later they were going to realize the window was open when it shouldn't have been, and so Shiloh began to slowly make her way to rickety, iron staircase, crawling beneath the windowsill. The fire escape was old and unused, weak and corroding in places. Shiloh hesitantly tested the first step, and it seemed solid. But when she put her full weight onto it, the staircase let out a hair-raising groan that instantly caused the men inside to rush to the window.

For a moment, Shiloh was like a deer in the headlights, staring at the men as they gaped at her. Then, throwing caution to the winds, she raced down the stairs, feeling it creak and groan under her feet. A shudder ran through the flight of stairs as the men forced open the window and jumped onto them. Rust-coated banisters tore her hands, chips flaking off as her fingers skimmed along them. She could barely keep up with her feet and as she stepped from rusting iron to slimy cement, she skidded into the nearest wall, grazing her hands on the rough brick.

Gasping with pain, she pushed of the wall and sped off down the gap between the buildings, bursting onto the street with Ambers bodyguards hot on her heels. She ran past her building's entrance, not even giving a second glance to the hookers. They watched, speechless as she raced past.  
Shiloh took turns randomly, but the men were still hot on her trail. As she turned a corner, her feet slipped from under her and her hip cracked painfully on the pavement. At the same time there was the unmistakable sound of a gunshot and the dustbin that was beside her erupted, in a shower of filth.  
Crap, she thought as she scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain shooting down her leg. She weaved this way and that as she ran; feeling like a fool. But it gave her an idea. She knew where to go.

Cutting left, Shiloh ploughed through a group of ragged people, who scrambled away, their yells following her down the street. She ran into someone who wasn't fast enough getting out of the way and sprawled, full-length, on the ground. She skinned her palms further and slammed her chin off the ground in her fall. Shiloh could her pursuers' footsteps and guttural yells getting closer. Forcing herself onto her feet, she kept running. Her palms were now bleeding freely and she could taste metal in her mouth. There was a stitch in her side that was growing worse by the minute. But her destination was almost in sight and she grinned, despite the pain. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, but they were still following. Up ahead she could see the graveyards gates, and beyond them, they searchlights.  
Crashing into the tall gates she wrenched, desperately at the rigid bolt. It grated across and Shiloh pulled it open, the rusted hinges forming an ear-splitting shriek.

She didn't bother to close the gate; the men were barely a foot from her when she dashed through. Her boots crunched on the gravel and she slowed to a jog, hearing the men do the same behind her. They knew the rules as well as she did, and couldn't afford to be caught. She crouched behind a gravestone as a searchlight rolled past, and her followers paused too. A troop of guards marched past, and she pressed herself into the shadow the stone cast, holding her breath.

She could heard her blood pounding in her ears, and the stitch in her chest seemed to spike right through her heart, which was beating a tattoo against her ribs. When she took in a breath, it burned her throat. The sound of boots on gravel made her start, and she moved deeper into the cemetery, crouching until gravel turned to grass, and she crawled, her knees sore and tender. Suddenly, the ground went from under her, and the world tilted.

Shiloh's right knee had sank into an open grave, and the lower part of her body had followed, pulled by its own momentum. She dug her nails into the grass as her feet tried to find footholds. But the earth was damp and rich, crumbling beneath her boots. Her arms were aching and she could see the silhouettes of the men weaving between the gravestones. She had never been more terrified in her life.  
Right up until someone grabbed her waist. Strong hands gripped her hips and pulled her down, reaching up to covering her mouth before she could draw a breath, let alone scream. Her arms were pinned behind her back, leaving her mouth free, but she wouldn't dare scream. Ambers bodyguards had stopped right in front of the grave, and her attacker pulled her into the shadows, hiding them both from view.

They didn't give the grave more than a second glance before moving on. Once they were out of sight Shiloh began to struggle, finally succeeding in twisting around to face her kidnapper, as it were. What she saw made all desire of fighting leave her mind. A few inches from her face, the repo mans eyes stared into her own.

It was the surgeon, but the eyes behind the illuminated goggles weren't the sad brown eyes of her father. No these eyes, although at the moment filled with annoyance and possible concern, were a pale, watery blue. She had a feeling she had seen them somewhere before, but couldn't place it. His gloved fingers were still digging into her upper arms, and Shiloh realised that he was the only thing holding her up. She tried to find her footing in the awkward space between the coffin and damp earth. Once she had, he let go and she fell against the wall and looked over at him knowing that she had no choice but to ask, to find weather he was really a repo or not.

"Help me," she mouthed.

He simply stared at her, and her heart sank. She sighed heavily and the repo man put a heavily gloved finger to the pace where his lips should be. Shiloh looked at him, surprised. He then pointed at her, and at the ground, as if to say "stay". Before Shiloh could even process what he meant, he had clambered up the grave wall and disappeared into the night. She sank down against the damp earth wall, her legs bending awkwardly to fit beside the coffin. Her limbs were beginning to shake as the adrenaline drained from her body, to be replaced with cold fear.  
She could barely stand, let alone climb the sheer grave walls. As she shifted on the cold ground, trying to find some space where she could feel at least a little comfortable, her hand slipped over the edge of the coffin something pricked her finger. Stifling a yelp, Shiloh squinted through the gloom, reaching reluctantly into the coffin for the sharp object. Where she expected to meet the corpse's rotting legs she felt instead rough cloth, and metal. Frowning, Shiloh pulled from the depths of the coffin a heavy, fold out bag that looked horribly familiar. It was like a wash bag, but lined with vials and two heavy needles strapped to the end. Pulling one of the vials from its pocket, she let out a low gasp as an eerie blue glow lit up the grave.  
She could remember his first words to her. It was his job, to steal and rob. Her heart pounded as she realised who had been behind the mask. She gazed down at the corpse, whose mummified features had been thrown into sharp relief. It was his job, to rob-

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVESSSS!" the cry split the night, and all at once the graveyard was flooded with light, sirens, and gunfire. She could hear commands being issued, and the thump of many boots running in one direction. She shrank into the shadows as they passed, and stayed, frozen in a ball until the sirens had died down, but her mind was spinning. She didn't know what to think, so she didn't, she just stared at the small, glowing vial in her palm like she had done so many nights before. She didn't want to think what that gunfire had meant, had he gotten away, would he come back? Or would she become another corpse in this graveyard?

It had been hours since the sirens had sounded for graverobber, and so when Shiloh heard footsteps approaching, she hadn't thought of scouts, or how suspicious blue light emitting from a grave would look. She delayed in putting the vial away, and instead of seeing the masked face of the repo man, she saw instead a different mask looking down at her. It was a guard, pointing a gun at her face. As he pulled the trigger, she threw up her hands. The gun made a small -fwip- as it fired and Shiloh felt something sharp, painful and cold pierce her forearm. It didn't feel like she thought a bullet should, and she tensed, prepared for an onslaught of pain. But it never came. Suddenly, there was a heavy thump and the head of the guard was lying across her lap.

Silhouetted against the lightening night sky, was the repo man. But he seemed blurred to Shiloh, and as he jumped into the grave, he left a what looked like a trail of after-images after him. Approaching her, he held up her arm by the right wrist and she saw a small needle hanging from the flesh. Clumsily, Shiloh gripped the syringe and pulled it out, but didn't feel any pain. Even her hand seemed blurry, and she waved it in front of her face, before pushing back her hair. Her eyelids are growing heavy, and she looked sleepily up at the repo man, at the eyes behind the mask.

He was looking at her strangely, his head tilted to one side. Shiloh could only see colours now, but she vaguely recognised the shape of the mask being lifted and a mass of long colourful hair framing a pale, featureless face. As the darkness closed around her, the last thing Shiloh heard was, in a voice that was almost familiar,

"Kid?"

Umm...iffy ending I know, but I'll start the next chapter right now!

It'll be up within the next um...month, I hope.


	7. Into the Dark

Shiloh woke of her own accord in a bed she didn't recognise. The mattress beneath her was far softer than the springy, thin thing she slept on at home. She was buried under a pile of blankets that were on varying stages of decay, but they were warm. They smelled of earth, and sweat and stale smoke. It smelled almost animalistic, a manly kind of scent, thought Shiloh, burying herself further underneath them. She didn't know why she thought that, for her father had only ever smelled of lemon soap and the sharp, medical scent of surgery disinfectant.

She turned over and groaned as her body protested, muscles sore and stiff. Every limb ached and she could almost hear the creak of her joints as she stretched. Yawning, she opened her eyes, and cried out in pain. Sunlight seemed to pierce her skull and burn her eyes from their sockets. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rolled away from the offending light source, twisting blankets around herself as she did. However, she had not judged her position on the bed, and in a tangle of flailing limbs and blankets, she slid off the side, landing on the dusty floor with a thump.

For a while, Shiloh lay on the floor, annoyed and slightly disorientated. But finally, she rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself into a sitting position, clinging to the side of the bed for support. Unease was growing within her as she became more aware of her surroundings. Wrapping the largest blanket around herself, she staggered to her feet, legs made of lead. After the sudden bright light of before, the rest of the room seemed very dim. The only source of light was a guttering candle on a cracked plate, which cast more shadows it did iluminate the room. The "blinding light" from before was nothing more than a single sliver of grey sunlight that fell from a gap in the curtains, across the pillows of the bed.

Eyes still growing accustomed to the gloom, she looked around. The room had an air of grandeur, though dust coated nearly every surface, and cobwebs choked the fixtures. The four-poster bed Shiloh had been resting on took up most of the room, but there was an elaborate mantelpiece over a grate filled with ash, and a window seat with dusty velvet cushions, beneath heavy drapes.  
A nagging feeling of familiarity began to grow in the back of Shiloh's mind. She walked towards the window, the trailing blanket leaving a clear path in the dust behind her. She flopped down on the window seat, raising clouds of dust that made her sputter and cough. Disentangling her arm from the folds of the blankets, she reached up to the thick curtain and pulled it across jerkily, disturbing dust. Grey-blue streamed in through the dirty window, filling the room with light and dancing dust motes.

All at once, everything became horrifyingly familiar. Things that had been cloaked in dust and shadows were obvious once seen in plain light. The mound in the corner was her old stuffed toys, and what she had thought was a bookcase, was really the glass cabinet containing her old bug collection. She sank back into the cushions of the window seat, where she had once spent hours gazing out over the city, and once again looked around her childhood prison, her old room.  
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Shiloh found her boots beneath her bed, encrusted with dried muck, and still damp. Her coat was nowhere to be seen. By the time she had gathered up the courage to walk down the darkened corridor, the sky outside had dimmed to twilight. The watch on her wrist was missing, so she didn't even know what time it was, and the clock on the mantelpiece had been stopped on one thirty-three for goodness knew how long. And so, swaddled in blankets and holding the candle and plate in a trembling hand, with no clear goal in mind, Shiloh stepped from the room, closing the door behind her.  
She should have known every inch of that long corridor, but in the darkness, lit only by dim candlelight, she felt completely lost. As she turned down the hall of portraits, the light flickered over shards of glass strewn across the floor. She stepped carefully through them, following a path that had been more or less cleared already. Only a few of her mother's portraits remained, their flickering light casting ominous shadows that crawled across the floor. By the time she had reached downstairs, she was thoroughly freaked and the sky outside was dark.

The main hall was unchanged, apart from a pane of glass in the door that had been smashed in, either by a stone, or maybe a robber. Or perhaps a Graverobber, mused Shiloh. Cold wind that smelled of iron and car fumes whistled through the hole and around the hall, causing the candle to sputter. Hastily Shiloh shielded the flame, turning away from the door. Once she had made sure it wasn't going to go out, she noticed that something in the hall looked strange. In the weak halo of light cast by the candle, the huge mantelpiece at the end of the hall seemed crooked. Was it a trick of the light? Surely it was just how the light caused the shadow to flicker erratically that made it seem wrong.

Suddenly, a gust of wind screamed through the broken window, and rattled the door in its frame. Shiloh jumped, causing hot wax to spill onto her hand. Yelping in pain, she dropped the plate, and clutched her hand to her chest. The plate hit the floor with a crash that echoed through the house, and the candle guttered and went out, splattering wax across the floor.

Biting back a curse, she bent and picked up the stub of the candle, ignoring the pain in her hand. She kneeled among the remains of the plate, trying to quell the feeling of rising panic, and had just convinced herself to calm down when she heard a commotion, like cutlery clattering to the floor. She looked up, confused. It seemed far off, like an echo, but it didn't come from upstairs or outside, she was sure.

Standing up, Shiloh looked towards the mantelpiece, to see if there were any matches on it, but instead saw something she had missed before; a crack, running all the way down the side on the mantelpiece; it had been hidden in the confusion of shadows the candle cast. The fireplace was pushed forward, if only by an inch. Stepping towards it, she examined the mantelpiece. The crack was less than half a centimetre wide; she couldn't get a grip on it.

Sighing, she stood back, and looked along the top of the mantel, trying to remember all the detective movies she had ever seen. It was a stupid idea, but she had to start somewhere. Most of the crystal knickknacks that used to clutter the mantel had gone, all except the old silver candlestick. It was suspiciously free of dust and gleamed dully in the dark. Shiloh grinned as she reached towards it.

She pulled it towards her,and with a click the mantelpiece pulled forward a few inches. Heartened, Shiloh pulled with all her might on the heavy stone. To her surprise it rolled forward smoothly, revealing a long cement hallway. A secret passage, thought Shiloh with a thrill of delight.

In her childhood, Shiloh had explored the big house from top to bottom, but the only "secret passage" was the one leading to her parents' grave. And that was a gas mains, not really secret per say; shown to her by her father anyway. But here was one, right in front of her very eyes.

Shiloh was grinning as she entered the mouth of the tunnel, but her giddiness soon faded. The passageway was damp and dark as a tomb, and seemed to stretch forever. With the gaping entrance at her back, Shiloh felt exposed, but she knew if she closed it she would be even more terrified. just as she was contemplating turning back, the end of the tunnel came into sight, and just as the saying goes, there was a light at the end. She walked on, trying not to run, hurrying towards the dim light that flickered in the distance.

She found herself in a large echoing cement room, full of light. Candles and lanterns covered every flat surface, wax dripping sluggishly to the floor and shadows dancing across the walls. The light created a warm glow in the centre of the room, but dark shadows crawled in the corners. And in the middle of the room, bathed in the dappling light, was a corpse.  
It was half covered in a tarp, and one arm hung down from the table, pale fingers almost grazing the floor. Its blank eyes stared at Shiloh, who had frozen. It seemed like hours before she forced herself to move, inching along the wall. She tried to drag her eyes away from it, to the darkened archway on her right. She couldn't help but notice how the candlelight reflected off the dead woman's glassy eyes, making them seem to follow her across the room.

Taking a deep breath, she turned her back on the poor woman and picked up a candle. Just as she lifted it to light the arch, there was a noise behind her. terror sent goosebumps rippling across her skin, and pushed her heart in her mouth. squeezing her eyes shut, Shiloh tried to convince herself it was nothing. Count to ten, deep breaths, there is totally not a zombie behind you.

The last thought was so ridiculous that she actually smiled, sighing as her panic reduced. Then there was a scraping sound behind her and a grunt of "finally". Mind blank with fear,Shiloh screamed and dropped the candle, spinning towards the source of the noise. There was a clattering crash behind her, reminiscent of the one she heard only minutes before. As the black smudges cleared from her vision, she could see a shadow-cloaked figure standing behind the table. She had no air left in her lungs to scream again, but as she drew a breath the figure darted across the room and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Shut. Up." Graverobber hissed, his long hair falling around her face and he leaned over her. Shiloh had forgotten how menacing he could look, and he had never seemed so tall before. She didn't realise his eyes were so pale. She didn't think she had ever seen eyes so tired, sunken and surrounded with sleepless shadows. They were unreadable.  
Moments passed as they stared at each other, wondering who would be first to pull away. His voice, far softer than before, broke the silence.

"I'm going to step away now" he whispered, "don't scream." He stood back, and Shiloh drew in a lungful of air noisily. Graverobber started forward again at her gasp, but was stopped by the glare she gave him.

"I'm allowed to breathe, aren't I?" she snapped, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders. He shrugged, and looked away. If she didn't know better she'd have guess he was embarrassed.

"Guess I'm just not used to other people around me breathing," he said, turning back to the corpse. She could see now the crash beforehand must've been caused when he dropped a tray of scalpels and various twisted instruments. They now lay scattered across the floor, glinting evilly in the light. He must only just have finished picking them up, thought Shiloh, recalling the crash from the hallway.  
She stared at Graverobber, who was now covering up the dead woman. Shiloh felt there should be more to discuss. She had come all this way, nearly been killed twice, and all they had done was exchange jibes. She felt angry and she didn't know exactly why.

"Why are you here?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest. She needed to start somewhere after all. Graverobber spent a few seconds longer looking over the corpse before her replied, and even then, he just shrugged and said, "I needed a place to stay, I've got people after me."  
Something in shiloh's chest twisted, he wouldn't even turn to talk to her!

"Well I've got people after me too, in case you didn't notice!" she said indignantly, stepping closer to him. He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned, catching her off guard.

"Yeah I noticed. You might also want to take notice of the fact that, if I didn't save you an' all, you'd be the one on this table right now!" he patted the cheek of the corpse next to him. Shiloh shuddered, her stomach lurching.

"Look," she sighed, "I'd just settle for the time at this point. I have a job and..." she trailed off. The anger was draining out of her now, and she realised she had no idea what to do, or no place to live. It didn't help that Graverobber was now sniggering at her.

He hopped up on the table beside the corpse, looking far more at ease next to the pile of rotting flesh than Shiloh was even looking at it. Sitting atop it, he looked at Shiloh properly for the first time since they had met. She watched as his eyes roved over the grubby blanket pulled tight around herself, down her skinny legs and then back up again. She felt like she was being inspected by a prospective buyer at a market, checking for defects.

But then he smiled, and it was the smile she remembered so well. That smirk, curling up at one side, flashing sharp canines. She caught his eye, but wasn't sure if she liked the look that he gave her. She didn't really know if she wanted to hear what he had to say. Even if he said it in that smooth, velvety tone of his, she thought fiercely.

"I wouldn't go back if I were you, kid," Graverobber said, and Shiloh frowned.

"Why not? It'll only take a day or two to clean up the flat, and I'm sure they'll take me back at the diner I'll be fi-"

Graverobber cut in on her ramblings, "I wasn't concerned about your wellbeing, doll. You think they're not gonna come after you again?" he chuckled and continued, "The minute you go back there you'll be shot down and dragged to her royal high-ness, if I recognised those thugs right. I did, didn't I?" he smiled grimly when Shiloh nodded mutely.  
"She's after you kid, and that bitch is a terrier when it come to sniffing out drugs, she'll get her teeth into you and wont let go."

Something cold crawled around Shilo's chest and began to squeeze. panic, crawling into her lungs, she knew what happened to dealers that let amber sweet down. For a moment, she even forgot Graverobber was there, her habit of talking to herself kicking in.  
"I only had one bottle," she muttered, "she thinks I have more...or I'm getting more... what am I going to do?" she whispered under her breath, but the Graverobber heard her. He slid off the table and looked at her curiously.

"Wait, you should Amber some Z? You? "

Shiloh looked up, confused. "Yeah of course... why else would they be after me?"

He shrugged, "Well, you're Shiloh Wallace... though you might look a little different." Here he looked at her again with that look she couldn't read," and Amber was a real daddies girl, so she might've been pissed that you killed him first. Or she was bored."

Shiloh shuddered, "n-no... I sold her zydrate..." she mumbled, and Graverobber shook his head.

"She'll never stop looking for you now...where did you even get something she would deem worthy of going after?" he asked. Shiloh saw the spark of curiosity in his eyes.

"I didn't buy it, if that's what you're asking," she said defiantly. "I took- I found it."

"And you don't have any more?"

"No."

Grave robber sighed and leaned back against the table. "She'll kill you, you know."

Shiloh blinked, caught off by the sudden, harsh statement. Graverobber took no notice of her horrified look and went on, "When she finds out you don't have anything, and who you are."

"b-but what if I got some more, what if I-"

"And how're you going to get some, huh? 'Cause I sure as hell amn't going to give one more drop to that bitch! " Graverobber growled, stepping closer to Shiloh, who cowered away.

"Look, kid," he sneered, bearing down on her, "the company, and a few more people in my case, are after us. I can't even show my face on the streets anymore! And without my help, you wouldn't last a day selling...selling..." he trailed off, staring into the distance.

"uh... Graverobber?" Shiloh squeaked, unsure how to address him, but not wanting to remain stuck in this half-crouched position she had been forced into as he had loomed over her.

He blinked, seeming to just remember that she was there. He stepped back hastily, and ran a hand though his multicoloured hair. A grin was beginning to spread across his face, and there was a strangle twinkle in his eye.

"I think..." he said, and looked at her, grin now fully formed," maybe...yes, come on kid, I'll explain upstairs."

"Wh-what exactly are you planning?" Shiloh asked apprehensively, but he simply began to walk to the corridor, beckoning her to follow.

"You're a waitress, right? Any good at handling cranky customers?"

Shiloh's heart sank at the words, and she had a nagging feeling she knew what was unfolding. But his voice, amplified by the echoing corridor, sent shivers down her spine. She felt like she was being pulled along on something that was bigger than her, it wasn't like she had any other choice. She followed him into the dark.


	8. Little Glass Vials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I still have some chapters to post but I'm busy with exams and all that jazz. Once I'm finished I'll finish losing the rest of the finished ones and get started on the rest!   
> Please tell me what you think!

This was a bad idea. Shiloh knew that. Even as she pulled on Graverobber's over-long coat and laced up her boots, the thought rang through her mind.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to meet the Graverobber and then... what? She had never really let herself think about that, except when her mind had wandered, in dark moments of the night, or during a slow day at the diner.

'But I never imagined doing this,' she thought as she pulled on a pair of fingerless gloves. How had she let life do this to her? Why had she been so desperate to find someone, that she had let it all come to this? Especially since that someone didn't even want her around in the first place...

Over the past week or so Shiloh had stayed in the house. She had found out how Graverobber had been surviving; sleeping in Shiloh's old bed (which she had not been very happy about, and had immediately claimed back), pillaging the graveyard at night in his repo disguise, and generally just moping about the house. Food was delivered in the dead of night, by a scrawny young man, in exchange for zydrate. And Shiloh had a feeling that was his only regular customer.

He had mainly left her to her own devices after he had explained his plan. He slept during the day in some far- flung corner of the house, only ever appearing to steal a portion of the food Shiloh had cooked on the ancient hot pot he had scavenged from god knows where. They didn't exchange any personal information, or even have a conversation that went beyond the realm of jibes and snarky comments.

Shiloh distracted herself cleaning out her room, making it the one place in the house that was fully inhabitable, free of dust, dirt and grime. She had been warned by Graverobber to leave the windows grubby, but everything else was scrubbed until it shone. She burned her old soft toys, and shoved the skeleton in her closet. She even took down her mother's portrait. By the end of the week, the room was clean and bare, stripped of all reminders of her childhood, bar her insect collection.

She had worked far too hard to throw that away, she told herself. She spent her days looking over each pinned butterfly and beetle, and trying to quell the feeling of rising panic that was threatening to overwhelm her.

But she hadn't broached the subject with Graverobber; he had seemed so excited as he explained it to her. She had said "Just this one time," but she had seen the look in his eyes. They had a glimmer like an exiled king, desperate to reclaim his throne and subjects. And every king needs a knight to fight for them, thought Shiloh, walking down the stairs. A knight... or a pawn.

Her boots thumped on the hollow steps as she walked down the stairs. They had been scraped clean of muck, but Shiloh doubted that they would ever be the same again. Graverobber had gotten rid of the clothes she had left behind, and so she still wore the same outfit, the net top now riddled with holes and stretched out of shape. She caught sight of herself in a mirror as she crossed the hall and had to do a double take. With the ragged clothes, mucky boots and greasy hair, she looked for all the world like a grave robber.

She ran her fingers through her grubby hair and sighed, she was going to have to brave a cold shower sooner or later if she didn't want to end up with dreadlocks. It seemed as though Graverbber had chosen the latter option, eternally.

He was waiting for her in the lab, already dressed in his disguise, the black rubber glistening like oil in the candle light. He looked at her, drowning in his old coat, and grinned.

"Suits you, kid," he said, handing her over a small leather satchel. It was heavier than she expected. Peering inside, she found it was lit with the blue glow of zydrate, the bottles kept separate and safe in pockets lining the sides.

At the bottom of the bags were the couple of knife-like scalpels, and a strange gun. Shiloh picked it up warily, and pulled it out of the bag. It was small but heavy, with a vicious-looking needle where the barrel should be.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" she squeaked, holding it as far away from her as possible. Graverobber looked at her incredulously, taking the gun from her.

"It's for injecting zydrate, duh"

"I have to do that? C-can't they just do it themselves?"

He sighed, "This is the easiest way... Don't you remember?"

Shiloh frowned and shook her head. "All I can remember is that zydrate comes in a little glass vial."

Graverobber reached into his pocket and extracted a glass bottle, holding it in front of her.

"A little glass vial," he said, gesturing to it.

"A little glass vial," mumbled Shiloh, feeling a serious sense of déjà vu. Now Graverobber held up the gun and slid the bottle into it. It clicked ominously.

"And the little glass vial goes into the gun like a battery, see?"

"Okay..."

Then he stepped forward, too close, and she felt the needle scrape against her neck. Their bodies were pressed together, one of his legs between hers, a hand on her back. His mouth was at her ear, so close she could feel his lips move, brushing against the delicate skin.

"And then the gun goes somewhere against your anatomy."

His voice, smooth as velvet, sent shivers running down her spine. His warm breath raised hairs on the back of her neck, along her arms, and a hot flush rose on her cheeks, creeping down her neck. It was only a moment, but it seemed far longer for Shiloh. A long, delicious moment that Shiloh wasn't sure she wanted to end.

For just a split second, she was terrified that the sharp point of the needle was going to sink beneath her flesh, that he was going to pull the trigger and push the toxic fluid into her veins. But her terror ended when he stepped back, leaving her neck unharmed and her blood thumping in her veins.

He looked at her with eyes that seemed glazed over, and roughly handed her back the gun, quickly turning away and walking back to his workbench. There was no trace of the easy grin she had expected to see on his face. The warmth, closeness and alarm of a few seconds ago was gone as suddenly as it arrived.

Shiloh stood where she was for a few minutes, mind boggled. Graverobber was standing with his back to her, hands gripping the side of the table. The air was full of tension, and Shiloh felt one word would cause the whole world to shatter.

Just as Shiloh was about to relax, Graverobber glanced over his shoulder and saw her still standing there. His lip curled into a snarl and when he spoke his voice was low and harsh, like he was out of breath.

"Why are you just standing there? Go do your job, kid."

Shiloh frowned, feeling more hurt than she thought she'd be. She hoisted the satchel over her shoulder and left the room quietly, casting him one last confused glance. Her footsteps echoed all the way up the passage, and it was only when he heard the front door slam that Graverobber moved from his frozen stance.

Letting out a groan of frustration, he kicked the nearest table. It went rattling across the floor, scattering candles and utensils, the noise building to a deafening din in the echoing room. He turned over another table, laden with bottles and jars of zydrate, watching them shatter and spill the glowing blue liquid over the basement floor. None of it made him feel any better though, and he slammed his fist into a wall before leaning against it, nursing his grazed knuckles and panting.

This was out of bounds, it wasn't allowed. The girl was barely seventeen and he was… he was too old to be messing with someone like that. He couldn't stop thinking of her as the innocent kid from last year, but it was clear she so much more then that now. And he was pulling her further into the underworld that didn't deserve her.

Graverobber cursed and ran his fingers through his hair, sinking to the cold floor.

Shiloh walked quickly and calmly up the stone steps and out the door. Once she was sure she was out of earshot, she ran as fast as she could down the street, dashing down a narrow street between two tall houses, slowing to a jog as the large manors gave way to streets of damp-walled apartment blocks.

She was almost shaking from the adrenaline that was rushing though her body, and she finally understood what all those books had meant by "weak at the knees". She was finding it difficult to stand, and leaned heavily against the wall, panting.

She could still almost feel the sharp point of the needle and the brush of his lips against her ear. An involuntary shiver ran through her, and she blushed, recalling the warmth of his hand, and his leg pressed between hers. And his voice, almost a growl. She could have listened to that voice all day.

Shiloh was sure this was wrong. But she wasn't sure if she minded. She tried to focus on the things that were wrong, invading her personal space, endangering her wellbeing, scaring her. But her mind kept being drawn back to the closeness between their bodies, the warmth of this breath that smelled slightly of liquor, that way that he barely touched his fingertips to her back, like she was something delicate.

She tried shaking her head, to rid herself of the memories, but to no avail. She didn't know what was going on, or how it would be like when she got back. If she went back, what would she find? There was only one way to find out, but first, she had to find an addict or two.

Feeling a lot warmer than she should be in the cool night air, Shiloh headed off into the dark.


	9. On a Wing and a Prayer

Smoke spiralled up from the huddle of shadowy figures. Painted lips parted in laugher as a silent joke was cracked, the punch line known to only a select few.  
They prowled the sidewalks in twos or threes, pasting coy and beguiling smiles whenever a prospective client came around, always ready with a spiteful remark if they were rejected. Clad in everything from fishnets to feathers, each shivered in the cold, none wearing enough to stay fully warm in the chill of the night. Even so, they towed their customers into alleys, showing nothing but self-assurance in their movements, in their work.

Some of the men standing at a distance were not just prospective buyers, but sellers as well. Every so often, they would talk with the women who walked the streets, heads close together, vials passing from one to the next like poisonous fireflies. Grubby wads of cash passing from one pair of desperate hands to the other.  
Shiloh watched from the shadows, wondering how she could approach them. She had a nagging feeling that nobody would even look at her twice, this scrawny little kid trying to sell zydrate among the men. They would sneer, even if her product was one hundred times better than the greenish, half glow-stick swill they sold for tice the price.   
She needed an angle to work from, an alter-ego. Quiet, scared, shy Shiloh had to be forgotten. She needed to become a graverobber.

She remembered the first time she had seen Graverobber, so calm and confident, striding through the shadows, dodging the searchlights with ease. His heart must’ve been racing the whole time, but he had looked as cool as the marble headstones.

Squaring her shoulders, she thought of Amber, her poise, the tilt of her chin that radiated confidence, the look that made you feel like scum. This had to stop being a place she needed to be, but a place she wanted to be. She must step out into the light, head held high, a swagger to her walk, feeling like- No, knowing that everyone there needed her, wanted her.   
Before she even knew what she was doing, she was approaching the small group of women on the corner, her stride strong and confident, a smile spreading across her face as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Even the guarded, apprehensive looks that they gave her barely rattled her confidence. And what was even better, hidden amongst the gaunt, grey faces was one she recognized.

They stared at each other as she walked closer, and Shiloh felt her confidence shrinking with each step, but was determined to carry on, and push this thin wall of bravado to its breaking point. Stopping before the group, all towering above her in back-breaking high heels, she kept her eyes on the girl in the shadows.  
“Don’t I know you?” The girl’s eyes widened and Shiloh made a mental note to use that line again. Seemed everyone in the city would start at it. She stepped closer, and assumed a less haughty and warmer tone.  
“Angel, right?” Angel looked a little worse for wear, and that was saying something, considering how she had looked just over a month ago.  
The marks on her arms were red and infected, raw sores open to the elements. Her hair was thinning, her body not much more than skin and bone. She looked grey under the flickering streetlights.

“Shiloh? What happened to you?” she asked, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper. For a moment, Shiloh was tempted to tell her everything, the girl seemed genuinely concerned. But she had a job to do. She couldn’t let her guard down, let go of this false bravado. She didn’t want to let go of the one thing that stopped her from losing her nerve. She would carry on.

“I…got a new job,” hissed Shiloh as pulled Angel into the shadows beneath a door niche, away from the curious eyes of the crowd, and shushing her into silence.  
“N-new job?” Angel stuttered, her large brown eyes concerned.  
“Yes, I could use your help, too.”  
Angel looked beyond confused. Deciding it was time to let the cat out of the bag, Shiloh opened the satchel. Angel’s jaw dropped as the space filled the ethereal blue light, and Shiloh smiled to herself, knowing by the look in her eye that the girl wasn’t going to let her leave without some. Shiloh hurried behind the thin, white form of Angel, trying to keep track of the streets and buildings they passed. It had taken to girl only moments to understand the situation, and before anyone else noticed, she had pulled Shiloh off the street and led her away; hissing under her breath that if anyone else had seen her she was as good as dead, with that amount on her.  
You couldn’t just swagger into the main thoroughfare of this whole business with no rep and a bag full of zydrate. You had to start at the bottom, had to find the people who had sank there.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
They were on the very edge of the city now, where the streets had no names, and the houses were just shacks, made from whatever the inhabitants could find. There were no streetlamps here, only the half-light that reached from the city. Eyes watched them pass, unseen from the shadows.

“This place is called the Middens,” Angel whispered, as she led Shiloh down a narrow street, more of a gap between the shambling houses, “and this isn’t even the worst of it”  
Ahead there was a dim flicker of light from a crack in a shuttered window, and though the house looked no different from the rest of the shacks surrounding it, Angel steered them towards it. Up close, Shiloh could see the house was held together by almost nothing, huge gaps in the walls boarded up with cardboard or stuffed with rags. The rotten door Angel knocked on was opened after minutes by a woman who looked as close to death as was possible and still be standing upright. Her face was so thin and ashy it was impossible to tell her age, and wisps of hair like cotton candy escaped from beneath a grubby bandana. She clutched a blanket of indiscriminate colour around her thin frame. Her sunken eyes widened as she saw the hopeful face of Angel.

“Anna? What’re you doing here? Don’t tell me-“ she noticed Shiloh, standing like a shadow behind angel, and her eyes narrowed.  
“Who’s that?” she asked, drawing her blanket protectively around herself and squinting into the dark. She peered untrustingly at Shiloh, “looks like a-” there was a sharp intake of breath, “ Graverobber! Anna, what-?”

Angel pushed her inside, dragging Shiloh behind her. Inside the shack was dark and smelled of stale sweat, smoke and, Shiloh realised to her disgust, urine. The entire house was just a single, dirty room. Bodies lay beneath blankets in corners or around the small stove that occupied the centre of the space, the only source of warmth.  
Something crunched underfoot and looking down, Shiloh saw the remains of a glass vile. All around where broken needles and vials, and some of the faces she could see in the gloom had the glazed, glassy-eyed look that she had come to recognise. She looked at angel in horror. She had brought Shiloh to a ‘drate den! She clutched the satchel protectively. This was the lowest of the low… Angel knew that. Shiloh could see the plan unfolding before her.

Angel, or as she seemed to be here, Anna, was trying to calm down the woman in the blanket, who was none too happy with Shiloh’s presence.  
“What is she doing here?” she spat at Angel, “some of us aren’t even dead yet!”  
“I…we’re not here for that,” Angel replied, nervously. Was this where she lived? It was hard to believe, but not impossible. And she might end up as one of the thin bodies beneath the blankets if she kept going the way she seemed to be. But she had to steer clear of that train of thought, even if it was heartless. Angel was her ticket to success, for now.  
“Oh its selling you’re here for is it? I don’t doubt some in here will take what glow stick swill she’s got but I amn’t having it” muttered the woman that Shiloh had mentally named Blanket, “don’t have the money, and not I’m willing to trade in to the body snatchers yet!  
Shiloh was aware of all eyes on her; more people were paying attention, drawing closer. She focused on Blanket and smiled, trying to put all the confidence she didn’t feel into the gesture. She chucked, pushing in front of Angel.

“Glow sticks? Oh no, no, no. I don’t bother with that muck.” Inside, Shiloh’s heart was racing with a mixture of fear and elation. She sounded confident…maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.  
“And as for payment… Well let’s just cause this a tester, why don’t we? A little taste of what you could be paying for.”  
A murmur rolled through the shack. That had definitely gotten their attention, thought Shiloh smugly. As the shadows stirred and more people came forward, she realized she had miscalculated the number of people. There were far more than she had first thought.There was a tug on her sleeve, and Shiloh turned to see the worried face of Angel. 

“Will there be enough?” she whispered, bloodshot eyes wide with worry. Shiloh patted her satchel, the bottles inside clinked reassuringly as she did so. She reached inside it, and withdrew the zydrate gun and showed it to her. Her skin crawled when she held it, but she smiled when she showed it to Angel.   
“It has settings, see? I can split a dose up, no problem.”  
But Blanket wasn’t convinced, “How do we know that she isn’t some body snatcher, going to poison us all and sell us for parts?” she cried, turning to the crowd. Shiloh looked at her incredulously, and shook her head.

“There isn’t enough left of you to sell, but if you’re doubtful, my friend here is willing to go first. ”  
All eyes were on them as Shiloh rounded on Angel, who couldn’t hide the sick smile that was creeping across her face at the thought of the zydrate rush.  
Shiloh turned her back to the crowd to hide her face, lest she betray her revulsion at the act she was about to perform. But she could feel eyes burning holes in her back as she took out the first blue vile, so bright it seemed like the only thing in the world, and slid it into the gun with a snap.

Shiloh bit her inner cheek and forced herself to keep her eyes on the needle as it sank beneath Angel’s papery skin, and pulled the trigger. There was a hiss of gas and the half the vial emptied. Shiloh’s stomach rolled at she saw the veins on Angel’s arm glow as the zydrate raced up her arm, into her bloodstream. Angel gave a shuddering gasp, her knees going from under her, and Shiloh almost dropped the gun trying to support her suddenly limp form. A blissful smile was spreading across the girls face, and her eyes had rolled back in her head.  
Others came forward and dragged her away. Shiloh was about to protest before she saw them lay her down and cover her with a ragged blanket. They looked after their own.  
Now she was alone in this shack with no backup. Guess it was time to see what she was really made of. With only a needle gun for protection, she faced the hollow-eyed addicts.  
She grinned, and raised her gun.  
“Come and get it…”


	10. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short mini-chap

The sky was lightening and the city was waking up as Shiloh made her way back through the streets. Her fingers were cramped and cold, but the bag slung across her shoulder was considerably lighter, and she was feeling buoyant with the feeling of her accomplishment.

She didn't even feel the need to light a candle as she made her way back through the dark corridor to the lab, and was rather surprised when she saw a pool of zydrate on the floor, trickling into the drain in the centre of the floor. She paused, looking curiously around the cellar. She could see it had been quite a large spill, but it must've been an accident, Graverobber would never let so much zydrate go to waste.

In fact, he may not be too happy at her idea of giving out freebies… but she was too tired to care. Avoiding broken glass, she carried on into the house, leaving a trail of glowing footprints behind her. It was pitch dark in her room, and Shiloh wasted no time in kicking off her boots and flopping gratefully into bed, falling asleep almost as her head hit the pillow. Already the bed seemed warm after the cold night…  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The sun rose, dragging with it a day that was cold and overcast, with a wind that howled through the streets of the city. People moved quickly, collars turned up against the wind that brought sharp gusts of stinging rain at intervals.

Angel staggered along the streets, picking glass from dirty palms. Zydrate was slowly draining from her system, but there was still enough of a buzz for her to maintain a dreamlike state, unable to feel her hands, or growling stomach. She hugged her arms, the thin coat she had found back I the shack useless against the afternoon chill. But still she walked on, her anxiety rising as her head cleared. Turning down an unassuming alley, she walked straight to what seemed like a dead end. She ducked down beside the cluster of bins that lurked there, and pulled a cloth bag from behind them. Rummaging through grubby clothes and knick-knacks, she pulled a tattered wallet from the recess of it, a ripple of relief ran though her on seeing it. It held nothing of value to anyone else, but as she flipped it open, and saw the picture within she couldn't stop the sad smile flickering across her face.


	11. Memories of Morning

Shiloh woke slowly, feeling unusually comfortable. She stretched luxuriously, cuddling into her pillow, which seemed too hard to her sleepy mind. It didn't feel right either… she frowned, confused, her brain felt too fogged with sleep to want to work. There was a rumble from beneath her, with an echoing quality that confused her, but the promise of more sleep was hard to resist. There was something niggling at the back of her mind, something that seemed important….There was another rumble….it had a rhythm…like a laugh, a chuckle. Shiloh's eyes snapped open, her mind flashing with horrified realization.

This wasn't her pillow, it anything that should be in her bed at all. There was only one thing it could possibly be. Sirens wailing in her mind, Shiloh tried to quieten the screaming voice in her brain that was trying to tell her that the deliciously warm something that her head was lying on...that she had just cuddled into, was...  
Heat was already rising in her face but frozen in shock, Shiloh was now hyper aware of every part of her body, and how it was pressed against Graverobber's. She was sprawled across his chest, an arm thrown across him, a leg hooked around his own. One of her hands had somehow made it under his shirt. Feeling her face begin to burn, she struggled to her elbows and looked up into the face of a sleepy-eyed Graverobber, who was grinning like a cat who had woken up in a dairy.

"Well, Good morning to you too."he purred.

Shiloh sat up, clinging to the blankets around her for unneeded modesty. This really didn't make things any better, as she was now straddling one of his legs. It was altogether too clear how Graverobber felt about the situation, and Shiloh could only glare at him furiously as he tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smile off his face.

"Kid, I know I sent you to talk to hookers, but I didn't tell you to ask for tips," he quipped, propping himself up on his elbows and cocking an eyebrow.  
The pink bubble of embarrassment that had encased Shiloh chose at this moment to pop, and become rage, which spilled over Graverobber like a tide.

"How….how dare you?" she whispered, embarrassment and anger coiling within her "This in my bed! Why are you even here?!" her voice rose to a shout; she really wanted to wipe that smile off Graverobber's face, "stop smirking! Anyone would be mad if they woke up to…" to a handsome, sleepy man in their bed? A voice in the back of her head asked. Something wasn't quite right there… she met his eyes, and there was a tense moment in which Shiloh noticed that her cheeks weren't the only ones burning.

"Look, you just gave me a shock," she ended lamely, glaring as hard as she dared. Graverobber rolled his eyes and lay back against the pillows.

"Well if you're that easily scared, you probably didn't even talk to any hookers anyway" he yawned, closing his eyes.

"Yes I did!" snapped Shiloh, folding her arms defensively, all awkward body situations forgotten. "And you still haven't answered my question!" Graverobber shrugged, waving one hand in a careless gesture.

"This was my bed for six months, kid, I guess I just missed it." he said, eyes still firmly shut. Shiloh seethed.

"Well it was mine for 17 years, and since its mine again you just cant go renting it whenever you like!"

Graverobber made a face at her, and then opened an eye.

"Oh, speaking of rent...how much did you make?"he asked, looking at her expectantly.

"Um…" Shiloh's confidence faltered, stream of anger trickling dry. Last night's plan didn't seem like such a good idea any more.

"I, ah, Didn't make anything," she said in a small voice. Graverobber smiled smugly at the ceiling.

"Yeah I thought so. Well, no big deal, you can just go out again tonight with the same stuff, good thing it keeps." Shiloh avoided looking at Graverobber.

"That won't be possible because I, ah, gave it all away…"

Graverobbers eyes snapped open. He sat bolt upright, bringing himself and Shiloh face to face.

"You. Did. WHAT?"

Quickly as she could, Shiloh explained herself. By the end, Graverobber was leaning back against the headboard, looking horrified.

"You gave it all to those… those zombies?" he whispered, staring at her in disbelief. Shiloh nodded, almost losing balance as Graverobber pulled his legs from beneath her to rest his elbows on his knees. He buried his head in his hands and massaged his temples.

"They'll be singing your name in the street, that's for sure kid…" he mumbled. Shiloh stared at him until he met her gaze of disbelief.

"I thought that was the point," she said, innocently. Graverobber shot her a look of pure loathing and she took immense pride in being able to grin at him.

"I don't know why you're panicking about it so much," she said, " its not like we're going to run out any time soon..." she paused as she remembered the spill in the basement, and cold dread stole over her, surely it couldn't have been that much... She turned to look at Graverobber, the bad news painted mournfully across his face. The anger she thought had petered out came rushing back with a vengeance.

"You...did...WHAT?"


	12. Graverobbing

In the depths of the night-cloaked city, amidst the light and noise and life was a patch of silence; a graveyard. Though small, the walls were high and the shadows only broken by the harsh beam of a spotlight, cutting through the gloom. Far older than the city built around it, there was a sense of stillness in the air, as in a cathedral. This unusually peaceful aura meant that the guards rarely left their stations, unlike the more "active" areas of the city. In the depths of the shadows, two shapes crawled through darkness, and in the pause between the sound of the wind rustling in the leaves you could hear them bickering.

"I cannot believe I have to do this" hissed Shiloh, from where she was lying, spread eagled against the ground. A searchlight passed inches away from her fingertips and she whimpered, rolling away. She lay on her back for a moment, exhaling a shaky breath of relief, and glared at Graverobber, who was rising into a crouch beside her.

"This is your fault!" she spat, trying to move around on the gravel without making too much noise.

"It isn't, alright! I said I was an accident!" he replied sharply, though his tone sounded more embarrassed than annoyed. It was hard to tell what any of his emotions were beneath the mask he wore. He made quite a sight dressed all in rubber, and Shiloh had to keep reminding herself it was him. She ignored his protests and wiggled on a few more inches, into the darker shadow of a crypt. Her knees and palms were raw from crawling through dirt, and her cloths damp from the ground. it seemed too much effort just to reach this old mausoleum. The crept along the side of the building, keeping eyes peeled for approaching guards. Shiloh looked up at the imposing building apprehensively.

"You have the keys to this place?" she asked in disbelief, taking in the impressive, elaborately carved stone doors. Graverobber's eyes twinkled mischievously beneath their visor, and with a flourish he pulled a crowbar from his boot.

"I've got the keys to the world right here" he said with a wink.

"That's really going to work?" whispered Shiloh, looking around anxiously as Graverobber crouched in front of the door.

"Kid," murmured Graverobber, concentrating on his task, "of the two of us, who has broken into a mausoleum before?"

"All the same it just doesn't seem like the most-" she cringed as there was a loud cracking noise from the lock," dignified of entries." Grave robber hastily stowed the crowbar away and heaved at the door, giving Shiloh a look that said "shut up and get in". Squeezing through the gap, Shiloh found herself in musty, pitch-black room; behind her there was a heavy grating noise as Graverobber pulled the door shut. The two stood in the dark for a moment until Graverobber broke the silence.

"What're you waiting for, kid? Get out that bug you're so proud of before I walk into something." His voice echoed off the high walls, he didn't bother to whisper. Shiloh quickly rummaged through her bag, bringing out a jar containing a live lumen nepa morsus. She had hunted down the little scorpion as twilight fell, and now it glowed with a blue-white light, scuttling about it's prison. It was enough to cast the room into a grey half-light, and after the few minutes it took for her eyes to adjust, Shiloh could see deep shelves lining the walls of the room, and raised stone coffins occupying the centre floor. She followed Graverobber among them, holding the jar aloft.

"How do you know there's even anyone in here?" she asked, as Graverobber paused to read the inscriptions on a tomb, pulling Shiloh closer so the light clearly showed the name upon it.

"Because, Miss Wallace, I do my research," he answered primly, removing his repo mask and dropping it carelessly to the floor. Shiloh couldn't help but grunt in frustration at that, it wasn't as if it was his to be mishandling, but Graverobber wasn't paying attention. Pointedly picking up the mask she place it in front of Graverobber.

"And research is…?" Graverobber had started to heave on the heavy lid of the coffin, but paused to glace at Shiloh.

"Well, the obituaries are always a start," he said. Shiloh looked at him warily, unsure if it was another of his odd jokes, but he wasn't grinning at her. He was trying to lever his crowbar into the gap between the coffin lid.

"Take for instance this guy, died last week," he said, giving a heave on the crowbar, "Real old family so he's buried here, out of the way. I'm pretty sure no-ones got to him yet."

He gave another heave on the crowbar, and managed to coax the lid open a couple more inches. The smell of decomposing flesh wafted from the gap, causing Shiloh to gag. Holding her breath, she went to help Graverobber, and together they pushed the heavy lid across. What greeted them wasn't pretty. A man's face, bloated with rot, the skin wriggling with live maggots, grinned up at them, making Shiloh fight back another wave of nausea. Unperturbed, Graverobber leaned in and looked closely at the corpse. Shiloh staggered back, not breathing until her back met the wall, where she judged it safe enough. Graverobber looked back at her and grinned.

"Brilliant," he said smugly, "he's untouched." Looking back at the corpse he gave a little shrug, and rethought his statement, "By us; you can tell the knife has kissed that face more than once, eh?"

Curious, Shiloh walked back to the tomb, and looked to where Graverobber was pointing. Squinting through half-closed eyes for fear of what she might see, she saw that the man's eye sockets looked strangely hallow. She frowned in confusion but hazarded a guess.

"Mechanical eyes?" she asked, recalling blind Mag, and her unearthly eyes that seemed to look right through you. Graverobber gave a grunt of affirmation, and shook his head in mock pity at the corpse.

"Once you get those, you're on Z for life… which means he should be pumped full of the stuff!" he said cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. Shiloh didn't see what there was to be cheery about, she couldn't get over what they were about to do. But, she supposed, after a few years it all became routine. Speaking of which, how long had Graverobber been doing this; and just how was he? As Shiloh was quietly pondering this and wondering why she hadn't before, Graverobber had unrolled his kit of needles and vials on the floor. He selected a needle, and after pausing for a moment, turned to Shiloh and handed it to her. Jolted from her reverie, she took it, and looked at it with apprehension.

"What do you expect me to do with this?" she asked, dreading the answer. Graverobber gestured to the corpse, as if he was giving her a great gift.

"What do you think?" he asked, sarcastically. Shaking her head, Shiloh placed the needle on the rim of the tomb and backed away.

"Nope, n-no way, I hate needles!" she protested, her voice raising high enough to echo off the walls. He skin crawled at the thought of going any closer to the dead man. She crossed her arms firmly, determined not to move, but Graverobber just looked at her, eyebrows raised in patronizing disbelief. Shiloh met his stare, but could not understand the mocking smile beneath it.

"What?" she asked, confused. Graverobber shook his head, smiling like he knew some private joke.

"Kid, you have like a hundred bugs pinned up in your room and you're telling me you don't like needles?" he asked incredulously. Shiloh flushed in frustration.

"That's not the same!" she snapped, but it was obvious that Graverobber didn't believe a word.

"No, I think it is. In fact, it's easier, 'cause he's already dead." He beckoned her close, put an arm around her shoulder and pointed to the man's ghastly face.

"Just pretend he's a bug, he's ugly enough." He let go of Shiloh and reached down to give the man's cheek a slap. The sickening squelch it made Shiloh's stomach churn, and she found herself missing the momentary comfort of Gravrobber's arm around her. Realizing what she was thinking she pushed it out of her head and drew herself up with dignity. She was getting annoyed at Graverobber, the way he was taking to her like a child, and feeling silly about her moment of longing. She would have to do this sooner or later anyway, she told herself. But why, why couldn't it have been later? Picking up the needle with a groan, she stepped closer to the coffin, taking shallow breaths and she bent over the body.

"Ok," she whispered to herself, trying not to look at the sagging flesh of the corpse, or the maggots' crawling from beneath his eye sockets. Steeling herself, she brought the needle close to the man's face and looked up to Graverobber for help. He was closer that she had anticipated, and was watching her intently. He led her hands towards the man's nose, but when Shiloh tried to insert the needle, the way she remembered seeing Graverobber do so long ago, she met only bone. She looked back at him in confusion.

"It's just like a needle into a bug. You've got to smack it" he whispered, thumping a fist into his palm, "into the skull." Biting her lip, Shiloh nodded, and rammed the needle as hard as she could. There was a crack and her stomach lurched as it sank into whatever was beneath the bone. With a glance at Graverobber, Shiloh drew back on the plunger and couldn't stop the gleeful smile spreading on her face as it was lit up by the zydrate's blue glow. Standing up she grinned at Graverobber who took the vial from her with a smile.

"Congrats, kid, you're now officially a Graverobber."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think and if I could improve anywhere, I haven't written properly in ages.  
> ~CC


	13. Old aquaintences

Shiloh lurked on the edge of the pool of light, on the edge of the middens. The mist surrounding her swirled orange beneath the streetlights glare. It's harsh flickering was the last symbol of humanity before the maze of shacks swallowed the light. It was impossible to see beyond the mist, so Shiloh was trying to keep a low profile. She shivered, pulling Graverobber's coat close around herself, grateful of its warmth. It reminded her that Graverobber was nearby in the repo suit. She looked around, though she couldn't possibly see him, but the fact that he was there made her smile. It was something special to be the only one in the know about his disguise.

She leaned against the lamppost and folded her arms. The chilly air was making her nose run, and her fingers were growing numb, her ragged, finger-less gloves useless against he cold. She wished she had something to do to pass the time. She dug an empty vial out of her pocket and tried to roll it between her fingers like she had seen Graverobber do. Her cold fingers fumbled clumsily with the frictionless glass and after a few minutes she gave up with a frustrated curse, glaring at it. She had watched Graverobber do this like it was second nature, the glass spinning between his fingers in a blur. It was memorizing, she never realized she was staring until his fingers stilled and she looked up to his mocking grin. She bit her lip to chase away the memory of embarrassment.

She pressed her fingers to her cheeks, feeling the heat, and wished she could get out of the cold. She passed the vial from hand to hand; flashing one about the place was the move Graverobber swore by to attract customers. Not that it seemed to be doing much good. Shiloh peered up and down the street. It had been a long few days, and her body was crying out for a good nights sleep. Or a days sleep, rather. Shiloh barley saw the sun anymore, and she felt the little colour her skin had soaked up from the sun was being slowly leached away. But Graverobber was determined that they made at least one sale a day: it was hard going the first few days. But two weeks into the game and there were a few faces becoming familiar. Like the pair that were making their way towards her now.

Though she didn't know their names, the frazzled, skeletal things found her out every few days to get their fix. Not able to afford much, Shiloh's heart twisted every time she had to serve one of them. As she doled out the doses, the Graverobber inside whispered to her that is was all she could do to, they had gotten themselves into it and there was no point prolonging their suffering. But for every sore-pocked limb she searched for a vein, for every pair of pleading eyes she saw, she swore she would never be anyone's first Graverobber.

She dealt with the pair quickly, and watched them stagger off into the cool remnants of the night. the sky was losng its intense darknes, slowly fading to a dull indigo-grey, and it seemed to Shiloh that it was time to call it quits for the night. Just as she was was double checking her things, wondering how she was going to find Graverobber, she heard footsteps approaching. She looked up in interest, three in an hour! Graverobber might actually be impressed. She squinted into the gloom, poised for flight in case it turned out to a cop, or worse, another Graverobber.

With no territory of their own, Shiloh and Graverobber had taken to skirting no-man's land between body snatchers and graverobber territory. There was so much to the underworld that Shiloh had never known before, but she was catching up fast. Rule one: keep out of sight until you know what's up. She sunk back into the shadows and waited, those footsteps sounded too sure of themselves to be another regular.

What stepped out of the mist surprised Shiloh to no end. A familiar face was not what she had expected to see this side of town.  
Jordan was almost unrecognisable in a long, drab coat and her hair back in thick braids, so much so that Shiloh though she was mistaken and the woman was lost. Shiloh stepped out of the shadows without a second thought, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Shiloh?" the woman squinted towards her, even her voice sounded different than she remembered, stripped of its mocking tone. Shiloh nodded, not sure how to react. She had never really spoken to Jordan before. The look in the woman's dark eyes was a mix of unease and respect, as if Shiloh wasn't what she was expecting. Folding her arms across her chest Shiloh gave her the Graverobber glare.

"Jordan…Are you looking for something?" she asked coolly, suppressing the smile that she could feel trying to break onto her face. If it had ever crossed her mind that she might serve one of thse who ridiculed her for so long, jordan would've been the least likely to enter the scenario. the least she could would try to be professional, and keep her gloating to herself. If jordan had looked a little nervous, it might have helped her sense of righteousness, seeming so professional over those who had once lorded over her, but something seemed a little different about her. The woman didn't seem overly anxious, or display any of the ticks of someone looking for a fix. In fact she looked quietly confident, looking Shiloh up and down with a raised eyebrow.

"Well I'd heard you'd gotten a new job alright," she said, sounding a little amused, "just didn't think you're the cheap fix-up robber that's being talked about." Shiloh bristled at the jibe, but managed not to express it on her face.

"Just until things pick up," she said loftily, and gestured to Jordan with her needle gun, "you here loooking for "a cheap fix-up"?" she asked jokingly. Jordan stepped forward, shoving her hands in her pockets and giving a bitter smile.

"That's really none of your business; I'll just take three vials." Shiloh raised her eyebrows; that was quite an amount by the standards she had been selling, half doses and occasional full vials. Could a body even withstand that much in one go?

"You sure?" she said, preparing her gun, but Jordan waved a hand, shaking her head.

"I mean to go," she said hurriedly. Shiloh looked at her, frowning.

"You don't look like someone on the glow… We're not in the habit of supplying other graverobbers." She said guardedly, and there was a flash of panic in Jordan's eyes.

"No it's not like that…" she said, and looked around nervously.

"I actually think it is my business if you're going to selling my hard-earned product as profit" said Shiloh icily, "I didn't know you could be a hooker and a graverobber. What do they call that, a grave-banger? People might get the wrong idea," she continued, giving the girl a grin, feeling a slightly malicious thrill at finally being the one able to tease. But the snarky reply she had expected from Jordan didn't come. The she was staring at the ground, figjiting with her sleeve.

"Its…it's for my son, my Niko."

Shiloh felt an uneasy, heavy feeling grow in her chest. She realized she had never seen Jordan shoot up with the others, and never seen a scar on her mahogany skin. It never occurred to her that the girl that didn't look more than two years older than herself could have a son.

"Oh," was all she could manage, and the two looked at each other in awkward silence. Jordan looked teary, and her voice cracked as she spoke. The look she gave Shiloh was a glare of embarrassment, but her chin was set in determination.

"He's real sick, and this is all that helps." She explained, fumbling in her pockets. Pulling out her purse, she opened it and looked down at the picture within, before turning it towards Shiloh. A picture of a boy no older than five smiled up at her. Happy as he looked, she could help but notice the bandages that covered his left eye, or the black veins that seemed to creep from beneath it. It suddenly felt entirely too personal, and she gave a weak smile as she handed the wallet back to Jordan.

"See, I'm no sell-out" she assured Shiloh, "It's only because the legal stuff is too weak that I'm in "the business" at all." Pulling ragged bills from her purse, she offered them to her.

"I need as much as this can buy." She said eyes slightly desperate. Shiloh looked at the bills and her heart sank, this was barely enough for two bottles. But the shake in Jordan's voice was heart breaking and as she looked at the young woman she decided to cut her a break, and offer her a bargain she couldn't refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I am super, super bad at updating I'm sorry.  
> Hopefully I'll have another chapter or two up before the end of summer, but I can't make any promises.  
> Anyway, Please let me know what you think!  
> ~CC


	14. Chase the Morning

"You had to do it" Graverobber said, looking blankly at Shiloh. She squirmed under his gaze, but refused to feel guilty. He looked at her, and then at the meager clump of bills in his hands.

"You let her take two whole extra vials "just because"?" he asked incredulously, a hand over his eyes as he leaned back against the wall.

They were in the cramped space between two builders, a space too small to call an alley, but to wide to be just a gap. Shiloh leaned against the damp, cold wall behind her and closed her eyes as Graverobber continued to chunter on under his breath. The sun was starting to rise over the city, the sky washed with grey and pink, and tiredness was pricking Shiloh's eyelids. Yet despite her urge to yawn and the ache of her feet, Shiloh felt good about herself. She had actually helped someone, and she could deal with the glares she got from Graverobber because she could still remember the look on Jordan's face. The girl had hardly been able to contain herself in joy, and promised to spread the word of Shiloh's dealings. Even if it was a pitiful exchange, it made Shiloh smile at the thought of what she had believed was only really a poison actually able to help some little boy's pain. She forced her eyes open and pushed herself off the wall, taking a deep lungful of air and glancing at the brightening sky.

"Come on," she said to Graverobber, cutting him off mid-sentence. He gave her an annoyed look, narrowing his eyes.

"Were you even listening?" he asked, following her down between the slimy walls.

"Nope" Shiloh replied, smiling to herself. Graverobber like to talk, but she had found that he also like someone to listen, so the best way to annoy him was to ignore him. His frustrated sigh behind her told her mission was accomplished. She looked back at him, and almost giggled at the childish pout on his face.

"Put your mask on, we're cutting it close as it is" she instructed, checking the street. It was still empty, the stillness of night not yet burned away by the morning sun, yet too bright for Shiloh to feel comfortable.

"When did you become the head of this operation?" grumbled Graverobber, his voice becoming muffled as he pulled on the bulky helmet, but his tone was slightly amused. Shiloh rolled her eyes and stepped into the street, motioning for him to follow.

"I'm not your dog, kid, I won't come at your beck and call" he said in annoyance, but followed her anyway. Shiloh walked with a spring in her step, unable to hide her good mood, and stuck her tongue out at the masked figure behind her. He replied with a rude gesture, making her laugh. She was still smiling as she rounded the corner, and walked smack into someone. She stumbled back, tripping over her feet to fall, sprawling along the pavement. Her bag landed beneath her with a crunch of breaking glass, and Shiloh bit back a curse as the sharp shards stuck into her leg.

"I'm so sor-" she began, looking up, but what she saw made her words curl up and die in her throat. The unmistakable uniform of the city guard was the first thing she saw, and above it a cruel looking face wore a sneer of delight. Horrified, Shiloh realised what little zydrate was left in her bag was now leaking from its broken vials, the tell-tale glow still visible in the grey dawn light.

"What do we have here?" the guard drawled, drawing his nightstick with a look of satisfaction. Shiloh scrambled back, her mind spinning into overdrive. She tried to crawl away, her leg protesting as the glass dug further into her skin, and managed to get into a crouch as the man took a step forward. She began to run, but not before he managed to crack her across the back. The blow winded her, and she fell again to the ground, skinning her palms. She looked desperately around the street, where was Graverobber? She glanced over her shoulder, panting; the man was advancing, smiling a smile that showed twisted and yellowing teeth.

"Shame, you seem too pretty to take in," he goaded, slapping the nightstick into the palm of his hand as he loomed over her. His smile had a nasty inflection, and she didn't like the look in his small, piggish eyes. Her hands balled into fists beneath her as she prepared to have to fight.

"In fact I-" he began, then stopped, his face going white as he stared above her head. There was a clatter as the nightstick dropped to the ground from hands clumsy in shock. A shadow fell over Shiloh, and looking behind her, she could see the tall, dark silhouette of the repo man. Her mind worked quickly, and she screamed as he bore down on her, manhandling her to her feet. He pulled her by the hair towards him, and grabbed her neck. Heart racing, she heard a whisper of "play dead". Something burst beneath his hands and ran down her neck, and Shiloh took that as her cue to go limp. The last thing she saw as she closed her eyes was the terrified guard legging it up the street. Must have a bill to pay, she thought in amusement as she allowed herself to he dragged away. She kept her eyes shut as Graverobber pulled her into a windowless alley, for the benefit of anyone who might have been watching. As she opened them Graverobber was pulling off his mask, an odd expression on his face. Was it concern? When he saw her looking at him he grinned.

"Great performance, kid" he whispered, crouching beside her. Shiloh smiled and shrugged, hidind her shaking hands in her pockets as the adrenaline drained from her system. As it did, she became more aware of the sticky substance that coated her neck and was slowly soaking into her clothes. Dabbing her hand to it, she looked closely at her fingers, goose bumps rising on her flesh as she realised what it was. The happy glow of success fell away, and was replaced with a sick, cold feeling. She looked up at Graverobber in horrified disgust, her stomach giving a heave that she only just managed to quell.

"Wh-whoes blood is this?" she hissed, the horrified fury in her voice causing Graverobber to take a step back in fear. He held up his hands calmingly, adopting a soothing tone.

"No, look, Shiloh, I had to I carry some in case something like this happened." He tried to explain, "It's nobody important."

Shiloh glared at him, taking deep, angry breaths. Nobody important. Those words alone showed how differently Graverobber thought. She tried to get to her feet, but as she took a step towards him a searing pain shot though her right leg. She cried out, the pain clearing all other thought from her mind. Her leg collapsed beneath her, and she fell into the arms of Graverobber, who was there in a flash. His strong arms cradled, supporting her weight her easily as she tottered, gasping in pain.

"Easy, easy," he murmured, helping her support herself against the alley wall.

"You alright?" he asked, tilting her chin gently with a finger to look at her. She almost leaned into his touch, seeking comfort from the pain, but caught herself just in time, and nodded, nudging his hand away.

"I'm fine," she hissed, her voice immediately betraying her. He raised his eyebrows, disbelief laden in his expression.

"I'll be the judge of that." Crouching down, he peeled away the blood stained coat to expose her leg. From where Shiloh could see it just looked like a mess of scratches and dirt, streams of blood trickling from her thigh. Graverobber frowned at her leg, his eyebrows kitting together in concern. Almost absent-mindedly he rested two fingers on the soft flesh just above her knee and whistled softly. Shiloh's heart was racing again, and she couldn't blame it on her leg. His touch seemed to burn more than the pain and it was all she could hope that the shadows of the alley hid her flushing face. He glanced up and she hurriedly looked away, red faced. In a few moments he had finished assessing the damage and stood up with a sigh. The skin where his fingers had rested felt exposed, too hot against the cold air.

"Looks pretty cut up, kid" he said, to her questioning glance, "It's going to be tough getting you home…" He looked up and down the alley, and then up at the crack of sky visible above the alley; already it was lighter than when they entered. His face unfocused to the blank expression that Shiloh had grown to recognise. Usually it meant he was about to drag her though cemetery dirt or throw her into some horrible 'drate den. She could almost see the cogs turning behind his glassy eyes.

After staring into space for a few minutes he seemed to come back to himself, his expression determined. He seemed to reach a decision, and turned to her, looking her up and down. She looked at him apprehensively, not liking the smirk that was beginning to appear on his face.

"You're not going like this, but your already covered it blood, so nobody will suspect a thing." he told her, his grin now hidden as he replaced his helmet. She felt as if he was trying to reassure himself.

"Like what?" she asked in confusion, growing irritable at the pain and the grin she could still feel coming from Graverobber,"You haven't told me what you're doing!"

"You ready?" he asked, ignoring her questions. She tried to back away as he approached, but between her leg, and the wall already behind her, she couldn't move. She tried to quell the nervousness rising up within her, but the mischievous eyes beneath the repo mask were not reassuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2016 update!   
> Have I posted already this year?  
> Will i post again before the year is over?  
> Will i ever finish this?   
> Who knows?


	15. The Surgeon

A repo man walked with confidence though the streets of the city. It was unusual for one to be seen in daylight, but he is no less threatening, marching down the streets with a determined air. Those who saw him shrank back into the shadows or stood stock still in fear until he had disappeared into the early-morning mist. There were some who eyed him with defiance in their eyes, but dared not speak out. For whom would venture look a repo man in the face, knowing that the dripping corpse over his shoulder could just as quickly become you?

"This is so embarrassing," muttered Shiloh, with difficulty. She was extremely uncomfortable, and the blood rushing to her head made her feel dizzy. The blood on her clothes was trickling up her neck, and she wasn't sure if she would be able to contain herself if it made it as far as her face. Graverobber's shoulder dug into her guts painfully, and forced her to gasp as he chuckled.

"You're supposed to be dead, kid, act like it." He scolded, prodding her in the ribs. Shiloh tried to push off his back, but the rubber was frictionless against her fingers, and with an angry grunt she let herself go limp again, body swaying with the gait of his strides. As always, what seemed like a master plan to Graverobber meant discomfort for Shiloh.

"There are places I could kick," she threatened half-heartedly, after craning her neck around to check for spectators. There was another laugh from Graverobber and a sharp jab of pain as he tapped her leg.

"With this? I don't think so. And if you did, what then?" she could feel him shrug, his helmet glancing off her hip as he shook his head. She could just imagine the condescending expression on his face. "Not the best of plans, kid. Just shut up till we get closer to home, we'll see what I can do then." It was all Shiloh could do to roll her eyes and wait it out.

It felt like an age before she felt Graverobber stop, and by then she felt on the verge of passing out from heavy-headedness. As she felt his hands on her hips, she prepared herself for a wave of dizziness. She winced in pain as she was placed on her own two feet and gasped as the blood drained from her head clutching at Graverobber for support. She had barely blinked away the stars before she was lifted off her feet again. Graverobber scooped her up her easily as if she were a child, and before she could think he was carrying her, bridal style, as he walked up the path to her house. Still slightly dizzy, she looked around.

"Why didn't we come through the graveyard?" she asked, becoming more aware of how exposed they were. Graverobber looked at her, and now they were face to face, she could see his sarcastically raised eyebrow.

"Drag you through that gas mains? Not a hope in hell, I don't want to injure myself." Shiloh rolled her eyes; of course it had to be about him. He glanced at her and she could see the smile in his eyes. This close, she could count his eyelashes if she wished. He caught her eyes for a moment, pausing on the front porch. To her surprise, it was he that looked away. The mask was the only barrier between them, and it made it so unreal, like it wasn't really him behind it; but of the course it was only her looking at a mask. She reached out to unlock the door, and didn't try to look him in the eyes again.

As they crossed the threshold, she remembered something her father had once told her. Long ago, there was a tradition of two people entering their first home together like this, or something. A marriage ritual? She couldn't remember. Her years in this house before Graverobber seemed a distant memory, vague and hazy, so unlike her life now;sharp and in vivid colour. Like this pain she thought, as a jolt of it seared up her leg, causing her to yelp. Reflexively, Graverobber held her closer to him, waiting for the pain to pass.

"Just a while longer kid," he assured as he climbed the stairs. It was still dim in the corridor of flickering portraits but Graverobber navigated it easily. Once in their room, Shiloh sighed with relief as he eased her onto the bed, leaning back into the odd-an'-ends assortment of blamkets and pillows. Sitting down next to her, Graverobber pulled off the helmet and sighed, pushing damp hair of his eyes.

"I'm free!" he cried in mock relief, flopping back over her feet, lengthwise over the bed. Shiloh giggled, despite the pain the movement caused her.

"Oh, what are you insinuating exactly?" she said, assuming an offended manner, "It's not like exactly enjoyed it myself. I think I'll have bruises for weeks to come" she complained, massaging her aching torso.

"You're not the only one, kid," he said "Your bony hips have carved up my shoulders" he said, putting his hand to the offending joint with a wince.

"That's the wrong shoulder, Shakespeare," Shiloh deadpanned, prodding him playfully in the side. Graverobber rolled his eyes and they lay there for a moment, in silence that was just as companionable as conversation. Then Graverobber sat up with a groan that suggested utmost reluctance, and turned to Shiloh.

"Alright kid, time to take care of that leg," he declared, rubbing still-gloved hands together. He hoisted himself to his feet, and looked about the room as if searching for something. He paused for a moment in thought before heading out the door.

"I'll be right back," he called over his shoulder, leaving Shiloh confused and alone. The room seemed very silent without him, and she shifted her weight on the bed, gasping slightly when it pained her. The heavy curtains were still drawn, and the room was musty and cold without light. Without distractions, Shiloh found that her tiredness was overcoming her pain, and she closed her eyes, relaxing back into the pillows piled behind her. There were a few taps on the window, and soon the soothing sound of rain was lulling Shiloh to sleep.

She didn't know how long she slept, but it was too soon before a clatter of falling objects jerked her back to reality. Cursing under her breath, Shiloh looked sleepily around for Graverobber. There was a weak fire burning in the grate now, casting shadows over a number of things at the bottom of her bed that she couldn't quite make out, but no sign of Graverobber. Suddenly, a match flared, and he was beside her, lighting a candle. Most of what he had brought appeared to be candles, and soon the room was lit by a rosy glow from the flickering flames. Graverobber looked towards the curtains, but appeared to still have reservations about opening them. He smiled instead at the sound of rain, and nodded towards the window.

"Could've used that earlier, huh? Wouldn't have had half as much of an audience." He sat down beside to her, placing the final candle next to the others on the bedside table. "Probably would have cleaned this bitch up a bit too," he said, gesturing to the clotted mess that was now her leg. Shiloh grimaced at the sight of it.

"It probably isn't half as bad as you think it is" Graverobber assured her, sounding unusually earnest. Before Shiloh could speak, there was a high pitched whistling noise from beside the fire. Graverobber jumped to his feet. Propping herself up, Shiloh could see just beyond the bed to the source of the noise. Their battered kettle was screaming on the old hotplate.

"How long was I out?" she asked as Graverobber crouched down to retrieve it. He shrugged as he approached the bed.

"Long enough to let me get everything organised" he said, pouring the contents of the kettle into a glass bowl. Everything? Thought Shiloh, looking around. By the light of the candles, she could now see the objects placed on the end of the bed. A selection of her father's medical trays laid there, the contents of which she could now see; and an uneasy feeling came over her.

"You're going to play doctor, aren't you?" she asked mournfully, as Graverobber rolled up his sleeves. He looked at her with a glint in his eyes.

"Kid, I don't need to 'play', I'm practically qualified." He said, shaking out a towel he had found god knows where. It seemed clean enough though.

"'Practically' doesn't mean anything to me" she quavered, as he began to hack the cloth into rough strips with the help of a scalpel. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to her, so she was a little surprised when he actually answered, still immersed in his task.

"You don't get this far in my lifestyle without knowing how to look after yourself," he said, now soaking the smaller pieces of towel in the scalding water. He grimaced a little as it burned his fingers but folded the cloth into a rough square, continuing, "I've seen far worse than this. Brace yourself now."

"Brace my-agh!" Shiloh gasped as Graverobber pressed the roasting cloth to her skin. Dabbing quickly and without pressing too hard, he began to clear the layers of dirt and blood from her skin. As the clots were washed away blood began to flow again, but Shiloh didn't point this out. She was biting her lip too hard to speak anyway, hands gripping the sheets beneath her in an effort not to cry out. Graverobber was worked quickly, changing the towel pieces often, but every brush of the cloth meant Shiloh could feel the shards of glass still within her leg. Eventually she could bear it no longer, and as Graverobber pressed the cloth once again to her leg she let out a faint whimper. Instantly he looked up, and she saw concern flash in his eyes.

"Shit, Shiloh, are you ok?" he asked, letting the cloth fall to the bed. She shook her head, shooting him a brave smile.

"I'm fine" she whispered, hoping he wouldn't notice the sweat beading her face. "It's just- Do we have any painkillers?" she asked hopefully. He heart sank as he frowned, and almost at the same time they looked towards the repo man helmet, still strewn on the bed.

"No." said Graverobber firmly, reading her mind. "You don't want to go down that road, kid. I think your old man had some old painkillers around. Y'know, the kind that don't eternally doom you?" he placed another towel over her now clean leg. "Leave that there, I'll be right back."

Listlessly, she waited for him to return, watching fresh blood soak into the towel. Red bloomed flower-like across the cotton, and she cast her mind back to earlier in the evening. Already it seemed days ago, it was hard to believe it was less than two hours.

 

She could still feel the cold traces of mist on her skin and it was easy to remember the mist-chocked alley, the echoes of their quiet conversation against the damp walls. Seeing Jordan had stirred something in the back of Shiloh's mind. She felt she was getting a little too personal, but it was a bit late to be thinking that now.

"Have you seen angel lately, Jordan?" she asked, as casually as she could. as she handed over the slim vials. Jordan faltered in her movements, frowning slightly as she heard the name. She looked at Shiloh warily.

"No…no, I haven't. Why?" she asked curiously, taking the vials carefully, handing them like precious crystal. Shiloh shrugged nonchalantly,

"No real reason, she just helped me a couple weeks ago and I haven't seen her since… I remember you two seemed close." Jordan nodded curtly but didn't look happy.

"Yeah, we are. Or were at least. I tried I look out for her y'know, she was too young for all this" she said, as if she was old veteran of some long forgotten war. She sighed sadly.

"I had almost convinced her to give up this crap" she murmured, almost to herself, her fist clenching around the zydrate, "But, I dunno, something happened a couple weeks ago… I haven't seen her since"

"What happened?" the words slipped out before Shiloh had time to think. She was overstepping boundaries; it was really none of her business. But they had already gone so far past what it meant to be strangers, and here in this lonely street, with the cold fingers of mist twisting around their ankles. There was a sense of unreality, as if they were in their own world. Even the noise of the city was muted here, the only sound Jordan's voice. And what did it matter anyway? Who did Shiloh have to tell?

Jordan seemed to reach the same conclusion, because she barely paused before speaking, her voice a half-whisper, though there was no one around to hear.

"Her man was killed, some kind of gang fight. It hit her pretty hard."

"So that's why she looked so rough" mused Shiloh, and Jordan nodded.

"Anyone would, if they were they one to find their man plastered to the sidewalk." Answered Jordan with dry humour, "Though I couldn't say if he was actually her man, really. He could have been her brother for all I know…" but Shiloh wasn't listening. A word stood out in Jordan's speech, something that didn't seem quite right.

"Plastered?" she asked, breaking into Jordan's musings.

"Hm? Oh yeah, it was messy. Seems the place cleared out pretty quick after whatever it was went down… and people didn't watch their feet." She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, perhaps realising how much she had shared with a relative stranger.

"Look, I gotta head off." She said awkwardly, tucking the vials into an inner pocket of her coat, "Thanks for everything…I'll see you 'round" she said with a hurried smile, and just like that, she had disappeared into the mist.

But even her abrupt exit could not rouse Shiloh, who stood there watching the mist swirl to fill the space she left. She didn't know what to make of what she just heard; the reality of it seemed too ridiculous. 

She was jolted from the mists of her recollection at Graverobber's reappearance. He was smiling victoriously as he approached.

"Alright kid, I didn't find anything particularly strong" he shook a small bottle of clear liquid and then held up a much larger, chunkier bottle in which sloshed identical-looking liquid. "But I did find a hell of a chaser."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!   
> This isn't a very good chapter but the next one is better, you'll see, whenever I get round to posting it!


	16. White noise

Well, the kid had coughed the first glass of the stuff all over herself, but after chocking down another,the mixture seemed to be doing its job. Shiloh was blinking slowly and staring dazedly at Graverobber, who was preparing to sew up her leg. Seemingly, she was not at all horrified as he sanitized the hooked needle he kept about his person for such instances, and held it up to the light to thread. Her glazed expression could just be the shock of seeing the wound , but then again it could just be 'cause of all the innocent brain cells that had just taken the plunge for the good of the nerve endings.  
It was clear to Graverobber that the whole intoxication experience was a new thing to Shiloh, though she insisted she'd had alcohol before. Heh, a sip of wine at dinner with daddy could not be compared to what she had just experienced.  
Shiloh's head swam, and the spinning of her head made it difficult to sit up or lie down, so she had propped herself on her elbows and watched Graverobber. what was happening to her didn't feel real, it was as if she was watching a tv show. she could only put it down to the drink, whatever ti was. It had begun to take effect ten minutes after she had managed to swallow the stuff, which had tasted closer to what she imagined paint stripper would than anything else. The first five had been spent gasping and cursing Graverobber and the concoction he had created, and her leg. Then she had cursed slippery streets and creepy guards, and the smell of blood. And then she had cursed at the medical apparatus and the wall. That last bit Graverobber didn't understand, but took as sure sign that the mix was working.

" I think its working," Shiloh said. Or at least, that's what she tried to say. What came out was more like" I… 's working?  
Graverobber had to bite back a chuckle as confusion knotted her dreamy features into something approaching a frown. He touched her leg hesitantly; the skin was still sticky with blood, but Shiloh showed no sign of pain and barley acknowledged his touch. He knew the mixture he had given her well; it was used liberally in back alley fighting rings, and known to some as White noise for the effect it had. Hulking, broken-nosed men would drink the stuff like water and barely be able to stand to fight their opponent but, hey, at least they wouldn't feel the spiked knuckle-dusters they were being pummelled with. A weakened mixture had done the trick here, but even so he was a little worried he had overdone it. He looked down into the face of Shiloh, who was facing him with a soft smile on her face, and beginning to giggle slightly as the potion took full effect.

"Yeah I think it is," he said, bending to his work, making sure she couldn't see his amused expression.

Now the final stitch was pulled tight, and Graverobber was faced with a Shiloh that was struggling with the loss of her senses. For the third time in as many minutes, he caught her wrists as she began to sharply tap her face. Sighing heavily, he pushed them down to her sides.

"Kid," he said in a warning tone, causing Shiloh to roll her head towards him, a wide grin on her paper-pale face. "You should really stop that." Shiloh giggled and struggled from his grasp, flopping back on the pillow, on which droplets of blood were drying.

"Dosn' hurt," she said, smiling at Graverobber cheekily. She ran her hand over her face distractedly, turning onto her side to face him, as he was still sat on the edge of the bed. "I can' feel m'face" she mumbled, looking at her hands curiously. Graverobber shook his head, moving to lean against the headboard of the bed and pushing her gently into the centre as he did so. The last thing her wanted was for her to fall off and injure herself even more. Christ, if she was this bad on white noise, then he didn't even want to think how she'd be if he'd been stupid enough to have given her zydrate.

"Kid, even if you don't feel it now, you'll feel it in the morning twice as bad if you hurt yourself, and I don't want to deal with your bitching."

"Hey!" Shiloh protested, propping herself up on wobbly arms, "I amn't-amn't… am not bitchy!" Chuckling, Graverobber leaned forward, arms folded across his chest.

"I didn't say 'bitch-y', kid, I said 'bitch-ing'. Y'know…whinging, complaining, yadda, yadda. " he said, grinning. Drunken confusion crossed Shiloh's face, as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"Tha's even worse!" she cried, attempting to point a finger at him accusingly but became overbalanced with the movement her and fell heavily onto her side.

"Kid, you alright?" Graverobber asked, amusement tinging his voice, despite his effort to seem stern. But it seemed Shiloh found it just as funny as he, as her body shook with giggles for a full minute before she rolled onto her back, and looked up at him with unfocused eyes.

"I'm really smashed amn't I?" she giggled, covering her mouth in an attempt to quell her laugher.

"Kid, you don't even know," Graverobber said with a chuckle, "This isn't even considered strong where I'm from." Still upside down, Shiloh's expression grew curious.

"Where are you from anyway?" she asked. Flipping over, Shiloh cocked her head, interest breaking through her glazed expression, "I don't know anything about you at all! Tell me your story, Graves!" Graverobber raised an eyebrow.

"Graves? Let's not started with the nicknames, ok? This is a strictly business relationship." Now it was Shiloh's turn to look patronizing. It seemed she was recovering from the initial blow of the dose, and was managing to get a grip on herself.

"Well, I- well, I don't remember telling you my name was 'Kid'." She said, pushing herself up on her elbows and grinning at Graverobber. With a rolled of his eyes, he waved away her statement.

"That's not the point."

"No?"

"No, the point is… the point is that I am not telling you my life story and you are not calling me "graves"," Graverobber said firmly. Shiloh's eyebrow quirked, but she shrugged, aloof and uncaring. He almost missed the mischievous look in her eye. 

"Ok...Robbie." Shiloh collapsed into laughter beneath Graverobber's horrified glare.

"If you ever call me that again I'll overdose you." He threatened over her giggles, but it sounded half-hearted, even for him. Finally Shiloh got control of herself and turned to face him properly, stifling the last of her snickers.

"Well?" she said impatiently, rising an eyebrow. Graverobber sighed exasperatedly.

"I amn't telling you anything kid, just know where I come from, people drink that stuff like water." Shiloh sank to her elbows, looking at him expectantly.

"What? That's it!" he prodded her on the arm, "Go back to being drunk."

Shiloh rolled away from his touch, and then back again, and stuck her tongue out at him. "I am still drunk, I think" she tapped her face, hard, before Graverobber could stop her, "yep, see? Can't feel… heh, I can kinda see why people would like to drink this like water… is-is zydrate like this?" Graverobber looked at her, his expression a mixture a pity and disgust.

"See, its thinkin' like that that ends you up in a gutter somewhere," he said, shaking his head, "Zydrate is a whole other story… you're just drunk. The numbness you feel is nothin' compared to it"

"But I can't feel anything…" mumbled Shiloh. Graverobber rolled his eyes.

"You can't feel your face," he said, and grunted as Shiloh nodded, "You can still feel the bed under you, and the clothes on your back, though. It's nothin' compared to the Z."

"Oh," mumbled Shiloh, smoothing sheets beneath her hands. She looked around, trying to become more conscious of her surroundings. Shuffling closer, she pushed her hands against the cloth of Graverobber's shirt, running her hands up his arm.

"I can feel you" she said happily, completely oblivious to how Graverobber had frozen at her touch. She reached up, soft fingers grazing against the stubble of his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. Graverobber stifled a gasp as he felt a shiver go down his spine and closed his eyes, gently pushing her hand away. He looked down at her as she rolled onto her back again, and his insides seemed to twist at her lazy giggle.

"What're you staring at, huh?" Shiloh laughed, and before he knew what was happening, she had tugged at the arm he was leaning on, sending him sprawling down next to her. All at once, all he could see was her face and feel her liquor tinged breath on his face. They were almost nose to nose, his vision taken up by her sleepy eyes; he could see how some of her eyelashes stuck together at the corner. Her lips looked soft, if slightly chapped, and they were pulled into a mischievous smile.

"Kid, what're you doing…" he mumbled, trying to laugh it off. He propped himself up on his elbows, but she grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards her, and to his horror he let himself be pulled. Her smile was softer now he realised, her eyes more serious, and she was watching him carefully.

"I'm sleepy, lie here with me" she said with a smile, but Graverobber's mind was spinning out of control, she was so close he could… but it wouldn't be right. For any other girl, he wouldn't have hesitated, and god knew it had been long enough… but Shiloh wouldn't have a clue about what he was getting her into. He tried to get a grip on himself, aware he had remained silent for a little too long.

"I thought you didn't like me in your bed, kid" he said, forcing a grin, which she returned.

"Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?" she mumbled, eyes half closed, moving still closer to him, and pulling a sheet with her as she did so. "I was kinda angry then…but its nice sleeping beside someone…makes you feel like you're not alone anymore…"

Graverobber didn't really know how to react to that, nso he didn't, and settled for letting Shiloh snuggle up to him and fall asleep without another word. Her sleepy comment made him realise too, that he had been alone for so long that he forgot what it was like to just lie beside someone and-

Shiloh had just moved in her sleep, turning towards him and somehow ending up with her lips on his neck, her soft breath eliciting a ripple of goose bumps across his body. Christ, it was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's, me, the author! Been a while.   
> Hope you like the chapter, and hopefully I'll update again before the year is out! I know about as much as you do about my update schedule.   
> I'm also revising and re-writing some of the older chapters, like I do every year.   
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~CC


	17. Coffee and Confessions

The messenger arrived after her breakfast, just as Amber finished dinking the last of her breakfast. Her hair, cropped short, allowed the elaborate earrings to swing freely as she turned her head towards the source of the commotion in the hall. The sound echoed easily in the high-ceilinged rooms. It was one of the advantages of the centuries-old house; it was how she had picked up on most of her knowledge of her father's business in the years she grew up. One only had to sit very quietly in the hall, and you could accidentally overhear whole conversations. It's amazing how easy it is to accidentally overhear people, especially if you accidentally hold a glass to the wall and put your ear against it. But no glass was needed here, as the man's pleading voice carried through the house.

"Please, please, I've told you all I know!"

Amber sighed and placed the glass back on the table, next to the rest of her uneaten breakfast. It was lucky for this man she was up early today, or else he would have caught her in bad form. As it was, her mood was on a rapid downturn; the man's voice bore on the ear like a drill. She snapped her fingers to signal for her breakfast to be taken away just as the gaggle of guards entered the room, carrying between them a struggling man in a rumpled uniform.

The man lay where he had been thrown, his bleeding nose dripping steadily on to the tile floor. This further irked Amber; blood was always such a hassle to get out of the grouting. With another prompting from the guard, in the form of a sharp blast from a Taser, the ragged man in a guard uniform spilled all he had seen. Amber listed with interest disguised as boredom, tapping her sharp, polished talons on the table top as she waited for him to finish.

"And then I- he ran away, uh, with the girl. Um. That's it. " The man finished, watching Amber with barely disguised terror. Amber raised an eyebrow at him.

"If I find you are lying…" she began, and it was just as amusing to see this horrid little man crawl forward on his knees and swear it was all true as it was all the other times she had threatened other with the same line. The man was watching her immaculate, tapping fingers like a mouse watching a cat, and visibly jumped when she brought her hands together in a sharp clap.

"Well, I think this is all sorted, don't you" she said cheerily, flashing the bewildered man a dazzling smile.

"We-we have?" he asked hesitantly, his voice cracking in hope. It was almost laughable.

"Oh, yes, you have nothing more of value to add this inquiry" she assured him, smiling sickly sweet.  
The man broke into a crooked smile of pure happiness, showing his rotting, yellow teeth. He began to stand, to thank her, but his sudden burst of happiness was interrupted as the two guards that escorted him here grabbed him again.

"What-?" he began, glancing at amber with fear in his eyes. Her smile remained in place, her hands folded in front of her.

"You heard me; you have no more use to us. But I'm sure parts of you do. And I believe they're overdue to be returned, too. "

The man's screaming rang throughout the house as he was dragged away. Such wonderful acoustics in this old house, thought Amber. She looked at the guard left behind, an official-looking man that stood to rigid attention and showed absolutely no emotion upon hearing his lesser colleagues screams. Apathetic and obedient. Amber admired qualities like that in a man.

"Any more reports on this?" she asked. The man saluted earnestly.

"Yes ma'am! All photos found seized and all witnesses convinced they did not see anything or otherwise disposed of, ma'am!" he said, eyes fixed on the opposite wall, almost robotic in his speech. Amber decided she liked him.

Several photos were placed in from of her, the quality varying from blurry pixels to half-decent shots. They all showed, without doubt, the night surgeon, a limp body slung over his shoulder. The photos really piqued Amber's interest. Any babbling fool could be picked up off the street, but this… this was something else. So, this Repo man was real, hm? She knew for a fact Nathan was dead, she had made doubly sure by ensuring his remains were cremated, even his organs. As far as she was concerned, there was no value in him.

But the outfit, well that had disappeared the night of the opera, and she had never given it a second thought. She shifted thought the photos looking at each carefully. The body looked real though, so were they simply looking at a run-of-the-mill impostor, a serial killer? It wouldn't be the first time GeneCo. would have had to handle such a situation.  
But this was the first sighting of him in the day, and killers were less careful than he had been; they wanted to be caught, usually. She took a closer look at the body slung over his shoulder. There was no good angle of it. Why would he kill a dealer though? That snivelling little man said it was a girl with a bag of Zydrate running from him. A girl with a bag of zydrate… Amber looked up as a thought struck, gazing down the long, polished table, inner eye seeing past the dark wood and the large French windows beyond. She turned to the guard, who had not relaxed an inch.

"How did that man describe the girl dealer?" she demanded, noting with a hint od satisfaction that the guard drew himself up even more before answering.

"Couldn't rightly say, ma'am," he answered, "But down at the station he mentioned she was small-younger than most dealers, if I'm remembering correctly." Amber raised an eyebrow, hooded eyes showing not a spark of humor.

"And are you remembering correctly?" she asked, not in the mood to play games. To his credit, the man's expression never changed as he saluted.

"Affirmative ma'am!"  
Amber was impressed, most men crumbled under the pressure of her stare.  
She turned her attention back to the photos. A young, small dealer… she examined a photo take from an angle behind the Repo man. There was only a shock of black hair to be seen of the corpse, and a limp, pale arm streaked with blood. Uncertainty arose, and Amber didn't like it. Could it be? Whoever was behind the mask… were they killing of Grave robbers? Her dealers, to be exact. The picture crumpled under her angry grip, her nails piercing holes through the thin paper. Whoever this was, they would pay. She looked over the photos, each taken in the different place, spread across the city, a handy little guide to follow. 

With a snap at a specific servant, an old, rotary phone was brought forward. impatiently she jabbed out a number, frustration building with each turn of the wheel. As it rang, tinny and echoing she could imagine how the call flew along the lines. 

And fly it did; along lines across the city, over grey building and dirty streets. It crawled up the side of skyscrapers and hopped from one to the other to the penthouse of one that proudly proclaimed the GENCO logo to the world. it worked its way through the wires, into the darkness of a room with an unmade bed and floors strewn with dirty clothes and rags stained with dark, unidentified liquids, the call rang urgently from a phone next to the bed. 

A hand broke free of the thicket of duvets and groped for the phone, missing the handle twice before finally freeing it of its socket to bring it beneath the folds of the blankets. A voice, gravelly yet petulant, and simmering with barely-controlled anger could be heard.  
“what THE FU-”  
Across town, Amber smiled a smile that was far more related to a sneer than anything else as she cut across her brother’s outburst.

“Shut it, Luigi,” she said, and the edge in her voice quietened her brother as well as any threat, “and round up those thugs you call the city’s finest, we’ve got a ghost to hunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look I posted an update, that wasn't several moths apart!   
> I'm kinda lacking in inspiration for the next few chapters though, so if you could let me know what you think of my fic so far, it would help a lot! :)  
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~CC


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